scarlet
by ShadowsTakeAll
Summary: And that's how she ended up at the animal clinic with a couple of werewolves, a druid, and with her best friend tied to a chair. [or: the pack falls prey to the nogitsune and chaos ensues.]
1. Wolf's Bane

**Hey there, and thanks for checking out this story! I'll only take up a moment of your time for a quick AN, and then it's on to the chapter.**

**This is the story I mentioned during 'bloodstream' (my other multi-chapter TW fic), which I've been working on for about a month. I'm actually quite happy with the way it turned out, which is weird for me, but I hope I did actually produce something worth reading.**

**Some things before you start: this is set somewhere during 3B, early on, before everyone found out about the nogitsune (and before anyone died). It's assumed that Deaton is a druid, Lydia doesn't know about Kira being a kitsune, and nobody knows Stiles is possessed.**

**And some warnings: I like things very dark. This story involves character deaths, moral ambiguity, violence, and pretty much anything else you can think of. So be aware of that before you start to read. Also be aware that the ending isn't clean-cut, so if you're looking for a story where everything gets resolved in a neat little bundle at the end, turn away now - or at the very least don't complain when you get to the last chapter.**

**I've pre-written this, so it's all but two chapters done (and there will be just over 40 chapters). This means that I can basically update as frequently as necessary. So if you like what you're seeing, leave me a review; how many reviews I get will influence how quickly I update, so support me and I'll reward you with quick updates.**

**Oh, and if you're interested, pairings include: Stiles/Lydia, Allison/Isaac, Scott/Kira, hints of Allison/Scott, and also one of my other favorite couples which I won't mention just yet. Most characters will be involved at some point: the main guys, as well as the parents, Deaton, even Derek and Peter and the twins to some extent.**

**That about sums it up, and I'm sorry it took so long. ANs will be much shorter in the future, I promise. So here's the prologue, and I hope you enjoy!**

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_**Now.**_

Werewolf hearing aside, the night is unusually loud. Scott's particularly acute hearing can pick up sounds most people would miss – a dog barking on the other side of town, a night bird landing in a nearby tree, shoes scuffing on the other side of the road – but it doesn't take much to block them out, given the chaos that surrounds him. There must be some kind of street party up the road, which is exactly what Scott doesn't need right now.

Light spills out onto the pavement from the house on the corner, illuminating the scene in front of it. A group of teens dressed in all black are standing beneath the window, sharing cigarettes and bottles of something that looks like rum; a couple is leaning against the fence, totally oblivious to everything around them as they engage in something that from afar looks almost aggressive, but closer inspection suggests that it's simply lust with a dash of intoxication; a drunken girl with a lipstick smear on her cheek even waves to Scott as he approaches, but he ducks his head and crosses to the other side of the street.

Music is pumping from the inside of the house, pounding against Scott's brain and somehow causing his thoughts to reverberate against his skull. For almost half an hour he'd managed not to think about everything that's going on. He's just finished up a late-night shift at the animal clinic, which had involved a dog with broken glass in its paw, a cat that swallowed the handle of a plastic comb, and a puppy that needed its shots, but was deathly terrified of strangers – it was exactly the distraction Scott needed.

But now he's on his way home, and there's nothing else to occupy his thoughts. He'd had a quick chat to Deaton after his shift, but the doc didn't have any new information. It was all things Scott already knew: the nogitsune is a trickster, the only way to defeat it is to change the body of the host, and there's no sign of either Stiles or Lydia. They haven't heard from either of them in almost a week, and that's incredibly unsettling. It means the nogitsune is planning something, some new way to manipulate them into doing what it wants. Or maybe even a way to end the game for good.

That's all it is, Scott thinks bitterly as he kicks a rock along the sidewalk. This is all the nogitsune's game, and they have no chance of winning when they don't even understand the rules. And even if they did, the nogitsune would just change them anyway. It's why they're always ten steps behind at best, always struggling to keep up.

As he turns the corner, Scott becomes aware of a noise from behind him. The rock tumbles to a stop but he keeps walking, not wanting to alert whoever is following him. It sounds like someone is a few steps behind, their footsteps faltering. Alarm pounds in his chest and he starts to walk faster, but then a hand grabs his arm and spins him around.

He's face to face with the girl from the party, her smile slightly lopsided and a wild look in her eyes.

"Hey there, handsome," she slurs, her hand still resting on his arm. Scott tries to draw away but her fingers curl around his arm and then drift up to his biceps, her smile growing wider by the second. "D'you work out?"

"Y-yeah," Scott says, trying to sound aloof but realizing he comes across as nervous. Which is understandable, given that he can still remember a time when girls this pretty would never give him a second look, let alone come up and talk to him. Before he'd been bitten, everything had been different.

And everything's been different since Stiles was possessed.

"I saw you back there," the girl goes on, her hand now on his shoulder, partly in an attempt to be flirtatious and partly, he suspects, in order to help her stay on her feet. "What's your name, cutie?"

"Scott," he chokes out, now sure he wants to be away from this situation. He doesn't have time for things like this, not with Stiles and Lydia both gone and the rest of the pack counting on him to find them. And even if he did have the time, he doesn't have any interest. He has Kira, after all, and he doesn't need anyone else.

"My name's Trixie," she says, her voice low and seductive. She leans in closer, her lips brushing against Scott's.

"Stop," he says suddenly, pushing her away. She stumbles a couple of steps and then looks up at him, brushing a strand of honey-blonde hair out of her eyes. "I have a girlfriend. This isn't right."

Trixie's smile had slipped for a second, but now it's back. "I don't see her anywhere. What she doesn't know can't hurt her."

"No," Scott says more firmly, holding up his hand as she takes a step forward. She stops, giving him a puzzled look.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I just told you. I'm flattered, but I'm not interested."

To Scott's immense relief, Trixie doesn't push the matter. She pulls a flask out of the pocket of her leather jacket, takes a swig, and then holds it out to him. He shakes his head and Trixie shrugs. "Suit yourself," she says, tucking it back into her pocket. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

She turns unsteadily and half-saunters, half-staggers off. She's in a pretty bad shape, so Scott doubles back and watches her go back to the party. He waits until she reaches that patch of light and is welcomed by the black-clad group out the front, and then he turns away. She's in good hands. If only every problem was as easy to solve.

Gradually silence settles over him as he keeps walking, hands in pockets and head in the clouds. He can't stop thinking about the past couple of months, everything that's happened since they found out Stiles is possessed. It all still feels like some bad dream, and every morning Scott wakes up expecting to have some kind of message from Stiles: a suitably sarcastic text or even a missed call. But there's radio silence, and some part of him knows that it's because Stiles is gone. Really gone.

A buzzing interrupts his thoughts, and he checks his phone to see a new message from Allison. _No news yet. Will keep looking. _They've been searching for Stiles and Lydia for a week now, and even Mr Argent and Mr Stilinski have joined in the search, but they seem to have just vanished. They've been through things like this before, dealing with the kanima and the darach and everything else that's come barrelling into Beacon Hills, but this time it's even worse.

And Scott knows exactly why. Whenever anything has gone wrong, no matter how bad things got with alpha packs and dark druids and werecoyotes, he was never alone. Stiles always had his back, and it's not until he's gone that Scott becomes truly aware of how much that support meant to him. How is he supposed to save the day without his best friend by his side?

He has the pack, of course. Allison's on his side, and so is Isaac; even Aiden and Ethan seem genuine in their desire to help, and Derek's probably going to volunteer as well. He's got his pack, and he's got his girlfriend, but it's not the same as having his best friend.

When Scott is two blocks away from home, there's another noise from behind him. Cautious footsteps, shallow breathing. He turns, knowing instinctively that it's not Trixie –

- and finds himself flat on the ground. Pain explodes across his face and he bites back a groan, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Someone is standing over him, holding what looks like a baseball bat, but his eyes are watering so much that he can't see who it is. If he hadn't been a werewolf that blow might have even been enough to kill him. As it is, it just hurts like hell.

He tries to stand up, but the person pushes him back, her stiletto pressing warningly against his ribcage. And just like that, he knows who it is.

"I wouldn't try to stand, if I were you," she says calmly, the bat dangling limply by her side. When he makes no move to fight, she removes her foot from his chest and places it down delicately by his head. He stares at the glittery straps, the impossibly high heel, and he wonders how the hell they got here.

"Why are you doing this?" he manages to ask as the pain starts to fade. He's going to have a bruise there, but nothing feels broken.

She just quirks up an eyebrow, her smile enough of an answer. "And by the way," she says as she raises the bat, preparing to deliver the final blow, "I'm not possessed."

Those are the last words he hears before the bat slams into his face again, and Lydia's is the last face he sees before he slips into unconsciousness.

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**Cliffhangers are going to be incredibly frequent in this story, which is just another reason to review. So let me know what you think, and I hope to see you (soon) for the next chapter!**


	2. Frayed

**Hey everyone, and thanks for the great response last chapter; it's awesome to see some familiar names in the reviews. And remember, all you lurkers, the more you review, the more I post; I've already had my fun writing this, so unless you guys give me reason to update quickly, chances are that updates will be few and far between.**

**A couple of things I forgot to mention last chapter. First, massive shoutout to my friend K, for helping me plan this story, and to C, for proofreading. So all mistakes are theirs; take it up with them. Also, this story flicks back and forth a bit, between past and present, so keep an eye out for the top of the chapter, where I'll let you know if it's what's happening now or a flashback to what's already happened. Basically it switches every chapter, so just keep that in mind so you don't get confused.**

**Now. Enough from me; here's what you came for.**

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_**Then.**_

It's raining. Stiles' hair is dripping, his jacket is soaked, and for the life of him he can't figure out why he's lying in the middle of a parking lot with a spanner in his pocket and a length of rope wrapped around his hand. The day comes back to him in pieces: having breakfast with his dad at the diner round the corner; goofing off with Scott in first period Chemistry while the teacher droned on about acidity; deciding to skip fourth period Spanish. And then nothing.

Holding a hand to his head, Stiles sits up cautiously. He untangles the rope and tosses it to the ground, and then tosses the spanner beside it. He doesn't remember getting those, which must mean that he wasn't the one who did. With a horrible sinking feeling he realizes that, once again, the nogitsune has taken control.

"Damn it, Stiles," he mutters as he gets to his feet, eager to the leave parking lot and his memories far behind. "You can't even go one day without letting a freaking trickster sprit take over your body. Top work, buddy."

These bitter thoughts follow him all the way back home, which it takes him longer to get to than normal. His legs feel shaky, like he's been walking for miles, but of course he can't remember where he's been. He's not sure how long ago it started; at first it had just been blackouts, and that had been bad enough. But then it had progressed, and after that night in the basement – in the _cave_, he corrects himself, remembering being dragged out by Melissa and Mr McCall – he'd started to do his own research.

It's a nogitsune, a trickster spirit. That had been easy enough to figure out, once he'd stopped hallucinating long enough to be able to think logically. Or at least as logically as he could, given that there's a potentially centuries-old spirit living inside him and periodically taking control of his body. He hasn't been able to pinpoint exactly who the spirit is or where it came from, but part of him is still lucid enough to know that the demon would stop him from finding out anyway. If he gets close to finding out the truth, or anything that could potentially damage the nogitsune, it will just take over and stop him.

He wonders if that happened today, but he can't remember anything after deciding that skipping fourth period would be the best use of his day. Undoubtedly the nogitsune had taken control shortly after that, for some nefarious purpose Stiles will probably never be able to figure out. The rope and spanner aren't even the most terrifying items he's found himself with over the past weeks – he's woken up with maps, knives, even some of Mr Argent's anti-werewolf emitters.

"Hey, kid," his father greets him as he trudges in the door, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up on the rack.

"Hi Dad," he says listlessly, hoping his father will leave it at that. He doesn't.

"I thought we could have some family time tonight," Mr Stilinski says from where he's sitting at the kitchen table. There's a half-empty glass of scotch beside him, and paperwork spread out in front of him. "We could order takeout, eat at the table together."

Stiles raises his eyebrows, his gaze sweeping down to take in the cluttered table. He doubts there's even enough room left on it to put a coaster, let alone have a meal.

"Obviously once we clean it," his father says, and Stiles notices how drained he sounds. How tired. How utterly exhausted. Stiles knows that feeling all too well.

"Sounds good," he says, slumping into the chair across from him and helping to clear some of the papers out of the way. Once there's enough space on the table, Stiles looks up at his father. There are new lines around his eyes, and his mouth tilts down at the corners in a constant look of disappointment mingled with sadness. He can't remember the last time his father looked so downtrodden. "So, uh, is anything bothering you?"

Mr Stilinski, halfway through reaching for the phone, pauses. His eyes become sharper, his expression more guarded. "Not at the moment."

Even though Stiles desperately wants to know if there were any strange call-outs today – anything that could have been caused by a teenage boy possessed by a dark fox spirit – but he knows not to push it. "Okay," he says, and a flash of surprise flits through his father's eyes. He can imagine what his dad is thinking: it's not like him to give in so easily. And he's right; it's not like him. But Stiles hasn't been himself in a long while.

After a slightly awkward pause, his dad clears his throat. "What are you in the mood for? Pizza? Thai? We could get some of that -"

"Pizza's fine." Stiles rubs a patch of dirt off his thumb, trying hard not to think about how he would have ended up with that. What was he doing, digging up a grave? Hiking? Playing lacrosse? While his father calls in their order, Stiles makes a mental checklist to try to figure out where he went today. Dirt on his hands – that could have been from almost anywhere. His legs are aching, which means he probably walked a long distance, or maybe even ran somewhere. He can't find any obvious injuries, which means he didn't get into a fight with anyone. And his phone's not ringing off the hook, which means nobody in the pack saw him doing whatever it was he was doing.

He's not sure whether he's relieved or disappointed. He hasn't told anybody about the nogitsune, not even Scott. He'd tried to tell him after the incident with Kira and Barrow, but Scott hadn't listened. And somehow it had seemed even harder to go to him now that he has definite proof. He can just imagine how that conversation would go.

_"Hey, Scott, I know I'm your best friend and all, but you may have to kill me because I'm possessed by an evil fox spirit that's probably plotting to kill you all. Oh, and did we have any Econ homework?"_

Yeah, right.

Dinner is a quiet affair. For a while they talk about meaningless things like sports and reality TV shows, but Stiles can hardly keep his mind focused for long enough to ask a single question, let alone pay attention to the answer. His father's telling some story now, something about how the new deputy's birthday was last week and the receptionist had made him a chocolate cake, but hadn't realized he'd been allergic to the nuts she'd decorated it with. Stiles knows it's an amusing story, and he owes it to his dad to at least try to listen, but something is tugging at the edge of his mind.

"Not now," he murmurs, and his dad's too involved in the story to hear him.

"… because the guy was too damn polite to tell her that he was allergic," Mr Stilinski is saying, and Stiles nods like he's listening.

But he's not, because he's too busy thinking of all the things they're not saying. There's something bothering his dad, something more serious than the usual Beacon Hills craziness. He wants to ask what it is, but he knows it's not the time. And then there's all the things Stiles isn't saying, all the things he can't. He doesn't like to think about what he's done, what the nogitsune is going to make him do, and most of all he doesn't like to think how utterly alone he is in this.

Mr Stilinski finishes his story, and they both finish their dinner. "I think we have some ice cream in the freezer," Mr Stilinski says as he sets the empty pizza box on the counter. "Interested?"

Stiles is about to say that he is – because if he can't forget his problems he may as well try to drown them in Ben & Jerry's – when the tugging in his mind becomes a pull so strong he can't resist it. Choking out an excuse, he staggers up to his room, slamming the door closed and ignoring his father's puzzled cry. Stiles leans against the door, breathing hard, willing himself not to let this happen.

But he has no choice, and as soon as he closes his eyes he knows it's too late.

When he opens his eyes, he's not in his room. He's somewhere else, somewhere he's been a few times before. The walls are solid concrete, the floor metal beneath his bare feet. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, so bright they make his eyes hurt, and a faint hum comes from behind – always from behind, no matter which way he turns.

And, as expected, he's not alone. The nogitsune stands in front of him, its face wrapped in tattered bandages so all Stiles can see is the gaping mouth and the sharp teeth.

"Stay away from me," Stiles says, backing up as far as he can. His back hits concrete and he stops, but he's dimly aware that this is all in his mind and therefore he should just be able to _will_ a door to appear.

"You're dying, Stiles," the nogitsune says, the sound echoing in the small room.

The words bounce back to Stiles, hitting him from all angles, but they don't give him the same chill he used to. When he'd first heard the news that he might have the same disease his mother had suffered from, for a split second there he had wanted to die. And since then it's grown, becoming stronger until he's sure one day it will break him. He'll snap, and that will be the end of it. He'll go up in flames, and he can only hope he'll take the nogitsune with him.

The room feels too small, suffocating, but Stiles knows he won't be allowed to leave until the nogitsune is through with him. It's standing in front of him now, head tilted like it's watching him, even though as far as he can tell the thing doesn't even have eyes.

"You are not scared for you," the nogitsune says curiously, curling its fingers like it's imagining wrapping them around his throat. "But you should be."

"You've already taken everything from me," Stiles says, a shout that dies away into a whimper. His hope, his sanity – they're long gone. It won't be long before his friends and family follow. He can't hold on any longer, no matter how hard he tries. He's no match for the nogitsune, and he knows it. None of the others have actually said it – except Isaac on occasion, but Stiles always just laughed him off – but they all know what he is. He's the sidekick. He's not, nor has he ever been, the hero. He's not strong enough to fight this.

"Not quite everything," the demon says slowly, punctuating each word with a wave of his bandaged, clawed finger.

Panic shoots through Stiles as he figures out where this is going. It freezes him, rooting him to the spot, even though part of him is desperate to fling himself at the demon and try to choke the life out of it. He knows that wouldn't work, but he needs to do something. Even if he can't save the day – or himself – he has to at least try. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your friends, Stiles," the nogitsune says. "Your family. The people you care about."

Although he tries to stop it, a single tear rolls down Stiles' cheek. He brushes it away and doesn't take his eyes off the monster standing in front of him. "Please don't hurt them."

"I won't hurt them – not all of them, anyway," the demon says. "I'm not here to threaten you. In fact, I want to offer you a deal."

"A d-deal?" Stiles echoes, taken aback. Why would it want to offer him a deal, when so far it's been able to take complete control of him whenever it wants?

"I can give you what you want," it says smoothly, "what you've always wanted. I just need you to do one thing for me."

Stiles already knows what it wants him to do, and he knows he won't do it. He can't. But curiosity gets the better of him, and he asks quietly, "What would you give me?"

The nogitsune takes its time answering, building suspense – and panic. And then it says one word, the word that's always had the power to cause Stiles' heart to skid to a stop.

"Lydia."

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**I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and don't forget to review. See you next time!**


	3. The girl who knew too much

**Thanks to the few of you who reviewed last chapter; you guys are the best. For those of you who are lurking and not reviewing - know that I update a lot more quickly if I get more feedback, so every time you hit that little Post Review button you're helping to get the next chapter up faster. Like I said, this is all written, so I can update as fast as you guys want me to. I love love love regular reviewers, so you'll make me a very happy Hufflepuff if you guys do review when you can.**

**A coupla things before we get into it. I just published a very dark Stiles/nogitsune/Lydia one-shot called 'arcane', so if you want to have your heart broken you're welcome to check that out. I'm also about a quarter of the way through writing yet another fic, 'break' (description can be found on my profile) so if you like my writing stay tuned. Plenty more to come.**

**Now for the chapter.**

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_**Now.**_

When Lydia walks into the room, Stiles is leaning against the wall, humming something that sounds vaguely like a Christmas carol. His eyes snap up to her as she enters, but he makes no move to go to her.

"Did everything go okay?" he asks, his eyes wary.

She nods. "He's in the car."

The wariness fades from Stiles' eyes and he crosses the room, sweeping her up in an embrace that ends in a passionate kiss. For half a second she resists, but then she remembers how far they've come and everything they've gone through together. Then she thinks of what she just did for him, and how much he'll owe her for this. She smirks against his lips and he pulls back, searching her face.

"What is it?" he asks, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

"You owe me," she murmurs, letting her hand drift up his arm and rest on his shoulder. She finds herself smiling too, and she leans up to him, her hands on the back of his neck and her heart in her throat. "And I know just how you can pay me back."

"Oh really?" He leans down to her, their lips brushing, and then he catches her in a kiss that takes her breath away.

The world fades away, all the color and noise and chaos, and all that matters is that she's here with Stiles. The taste of him lingers long after they part, and she can still feel tingles shooting through her blood as he takes her hand and they start to walk toward the door.

It's cold outside by now, colder than it had been when Lydia had followed Scott home from the animal clinic, and she suppresses a shiver as she steps through the door. But Stiles is observant, and he wraps his coat around her shoulders. For a moment she's caught off-guard; this is something the real Stiles would have done, back when they were both really them. But the gesture doesn't seem out of place here either, so she offers him a smile as they keep walking.

The car door opens with a faint click, and the lights that switch on automatically illuminate the shape slumped over in the back seat. Without a word Stiles reaches in and grabs Scott by the arm, dragging him out of the car. Lydia quickly grabs Scott's other arm and together they manage to half-carry, half-drag the alpha to the still-open door of their hideout. He doesn't stir as they take him downstairs, letting him fall unceremoniously to the floor of the basement.

Lydia is almost disappointed. She can still remember Scott as he used to be – back when his alpha powers were first awakened, when he and the others had sacrificed themselves to save Beacon Hills, when he'd gradually won over everyone he'd crossed paths with and formed his own pack. Most of all, she remembers what he's been like ever since they first found out about the nogitsune. How he'd been the first one to notice that something was wrong. How he'd gone frantic looking for Stiles when he went missing. How he'd done everything he could to save Lydia, even when it was too late.

Yet here he is, sprawled out on the floor, and he looks so… small. Without his glowing red eyes and his inspiring alpha howl and his pack behind him, he's not that special. Just a normal kid who's reasonably good at lacrosse and gets decent grades and occasionally saves the world. Nothing intimidating there, but Lydia still feels a slight pinprick of unease in her heart. If past experience is anything to go by, Scott is the only one who stands any chance of stopping them. Which is exactly why they're doing this.

"He looks different, doesn't he?" Stiles says from beside her, and Lydia pulls herself from her memories and focuses on his face.

"Yeah." Lydia slides her hand into Stiles', suddenly needing reassurance. She hadn't balked at the thought of kidnapping Scott, or handing him over to Stiles. But Scott looks so vulnerable now, and it makes her wonder if she might have made a mistake. Surely he can't be a threat to them.

"Come on," Stiles says, starting to lead her away from the basement. The door swings closed behind them with a dull thud, and Stiles locks it just to be sure.

"Oh!" Lydia says as they're halfway to the kitchen. Stiles stops and turns to her. "Your bat. I left it in the car. Do you want me to go get it?"

Stiles shakes his head. "It's fine. I can do that. Keys?"

She hands them over and he kisses her cheek before disappearing out the door, leaving silence behind. It's the silence that reminds Lydia how this whole thing started – the blissful, uninterrupted silence. She sighs deeply and closes her eyes, but they fly open after a moment. She can hear something. It's not even a whisper, just the hint of one, but it's enough to make the hair on her arms stand on end.

With a glance at the door to make sure Stiles isn't on his way back yet, she goes back to the basement. Her hand hovers over the key hanging up on the wall, and then in one move she plucks it off the holder and shoves it into the lock. Then, before she can lose her nerve, she twists it forcefully and nudges the door open. As soon as she does, the whisper becomes an echo caught in the recesses of her mind. She can't quite make out the words yet, but she doesn't need to.

The key feels heavy in her hand as she descends the steps, pausing on each one as she realizes that the echo is getting louder. She remembers what it was like the first time she'd come down these steps. The noise had been almost deafening, several different voices fighting for room in her mind. It's been quiet for a while, but now one of the voices is back.

She stops when she reaches the bottom of the stairs, her feet only inches away from Scott. He's still out, but the voice in her head is growing louder. She's not sure which voice it is, or how they died or what they're saying, and she also doesn't know whether she _wants_ to know. The less she listens to it, the more likely it is that it will disappear.

A creak at the top of the stairs cuts through the echo and she turns to see Stiles, bat in hand. "Lydia?" he calls down to her.

"I'm here," she says quickly. The silence has returned at once. Stiles always has that effect on her. Ever since she made her choice, it's been quiet – mostly. And whenever she's with Stiles, his voice is the only one she can hear.

"Everything okay?" he asks, swinging the bat absently back and forth. If it were anyone but him it would be a mildly threatening gesture, but she knows he would never hurt her. Anyone else – even his best friend – is fair game, but they're in this together.

"It is now," she says sincerely. She waits a couple of beats, but the voice doesn't come back. Scott doesn't wake. Stiles doesn't move. Lydia smiles, her vigour and excitement returning. With Stiles on her side, she's no longer just the girl who screams a lot and finds dead bodies; she's the girl who gets things done, the girl who has a purpose.

"Well, come up here then." He stops swinging the bat and holds his other hand out to her. "I have something I wanted to talk to you about."

Excitement courses through Lydia's veins and she flounces up the stairs, silence restoring her spirits and Stiles restoring her enthusiasm. The last thing he'd wanted to talk to her about was kidnapping Scott, which had ended up going surprisingly well. Now that Scott's temporarily neutralized, they have more room to plan their next attack – which is probably what he wants to talk to her about.

The two of them settle down on the couch in the living room, Lydia leaning against the arm with her legs resting on Stiles' lap. As he starts to talk, he undoes the buckles of her shoes and then places them on the floor with a lot more care than he'd shown to Scott. "It may come as a surprise, but I'm not actually infallible."

Lydia raises her eyebrows, feigning shock. "No, really?"

He slaps her knee playfully. "Yes, really. I've been thinking that we might need to broaden our network of… allies."

This gets Lydia's attention. From the start it's always been the two of them, and the only time they talk about the others is to discuss how they can get them out of the way or manipulate them. But now it sounds like Stiles is actually about to suggest that they invite someone else into their inner circle. "Did you have someone in mind?"

"Maybe," he says coyly, waiting for her to give him a suitably pleading expression before he continues. "I think it would work best if it was a member of the pack."

"Scott's pack?" Lydia echoes in surprise. It's a risky move, trying to convert someone in his pack – especially if they ever find out that they're the ones who kidnapped him. But maybe if they move quickly enough, they can get to whoever it is before they even notice that Scott is gone. "Who? Isaac? He seems like he'd be the easiest one to turn."

Stiles makes a face. "_Not_ Isaac," he says emphatically.

"Aiden, then? Or Ethan?" she suggests, finding herself increasingly excited by the idea of letting someone else join them. Maybe not in any kind of serious capacity, but they could at least share in the grunt work. "They've always had quite a temper."

"Tempting," he says, "but I have other plans for the twins. You'll like it."

Lydia tilts her head quizzically, realizing that she's rapidly running out of pack members. She doesn't think Kira is a real member of the pack yet, but in time she might be – unless they eliminate her first, and she has a feeling that might be part of Stiles' plan. "Not Derek?"

"Not Derek," Stiles confirms.

And with that, Lydia knows who it must be. There's only one pack member left, and the thought of it causes Lydia to sit up straighter, tucking her legs up underneath her and looking at Stiles. "Allison?" she asks, the word coming out as a whisper.

Stiles grins at her reaction. "You like the idea, huh?"

"I love it," she says quickly. And she does. When she'd made her choice, the thought of Allison's reaction had been one of the major reasons she'd taken so long. She hadn't wanted to disappoint her best friend, or to have to leave her. And now Stiles is giving them a way to reunite, to join forces again. In the back of her mind is the realization that she'd always thought they'd be on the other side of the fight, but she'll take what she can get. "Do you have a plan?"

"As a matter of fact," he says slyly, "I do."

He doesn't elaborate, but in the silence that follows Lydia manages to hitch a ride on his train of thought. "You're going to get to her the same way you got to me."

"It worked for you, didn't it?" Stiles asks.

"Are you sure it will work for her?" Now that the topic has been brought up, Lydia realizes how much she wants it – and how devastated she'll be if they don't find a way to go through with it. It surprises her how strongly she feels; she had assumed that all those feelings had disappeared the moment she disavowed Scott's pack. She's no longer following him, but she can't forget her friendship with Allison – it's something that runs parallel to the pack, something that stretches beyond it, and something she won't be able to rid herself of so easily.

"I'm sure. It's all going to work out," he says, and he catches her eye and adds, "trust me."

And the strange thing is, she does.

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**Uh oh. Any guesses as to what's going to happen? Or for that matter, what's happened already? I love hearing from you guys, so don't forget to leave a review!**


	4. Unleashed

**Thank you all so much for that reaction last chapter; that's the kind of response I'd love to see every update. Sorry for the slow update this time; personal life got in the way and such. But I should be back now (although for future reference if I'm ever away randomly, check out my profile for information because that's where I'll put details of any absences and things like that). So here's the next chapter. And, because I'm a shameless self-promoter, a reminder that I have a recent one-shot ('arcane'), as well as 'break' (in the works) and just today I started an AU Stiles-centric story with dashes of non-romantic Sciles and romantic Sterek. So keep an eye out if you like my writing, because there will be more of it. And I love love love reviews, especially nice ones (and especially now because I'm in a kind of shaky place), so please don't be shy. And now, here's the next chapter.**

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_**Then.**_

Mondays are never good, but what makes this Monday particularly horrible for Lydia is that all day long she's had a buzzing in her ears. It's vaguely reminiscent of the sound she'd had leading up to the incident with Barrow, but that hadn't been the buzzing of flies as she'd first suspected – it had been fluorescent lights. That's not what it is this time; it's definitely flies. The problem is that she can't see any flies, and from the strange looks her classmates are giving her, she can tell that they can't hear the flies. Which means it's in her head, so she's either going crazy or accidentally tapping into her banshee powers. Again.

In all honesty, she kind of hopes it's the former. A mental breakdown would be a lot easier to deal with than finding yet another dead body, or being kidnapped by another dark druid, or being manipulated into helping a former alpha resurrect himself. So far her banshee powers have given her nothing but trouble, so she would like to stay out of tune with them as much as possible.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be possible at all. When class finishes for the day she's the first out the door, a pile of textbooks in her hands and a scream building in her throat. But it's not the kind of scream that precedes a death. It's the kind of scream that comes from being utterly frustrated with her situation, and unable to come up with a single solution her problem. She doesn't know any other banshees, or even anyone who knows anything about banshees, and for the first time in her life she can't get what she needs from books. She doesn't need knowledge – she needs answers. But she can't even formulate the questions.

By the time she reaches her locker, the buzzing has become so loud that she can almost imagine there are actually flies. She shoves her books in her locker and brushes her arms, but there aren't any flies there. The noise keeps getting louder until she feels like her head is about to explode, and before she knows what she's doing she's turned and all but fled down the hall.

She bursts through the double doors and out into fresh air, taking deep gulps and trying to muffle the noise in her mind. She's never been able to quieten it before – normally it only ends when someone dies, or when the mystery is solved, or when Scott races off to save the day. So if she's hearing things again, it must mean she has a role to play. It would just be a lot easier to play it if she could think straight.

Lydia stumbles to a stop outside the gym, leaning against the wall and covering her hands with her ears. This doesn't help at all; it just makes everything louder, like it's trapping the buzzing inside her head. When she moves her hands the buzzing quietens, like it's dissipating, but it's still too loud. She can't remember the last time it was this loud, and she doesn't know how she's supposed to deal with it.

"Lydia?" The voice breaks through the buzzing, but it doesn't silence it. "Lydia, are you okay?"

With an effort she manages to focus on the person in front of her – Scott. Of course it's him. She's part of his pack – undoubtedly the most unorthodox pack in the history of lycanthropy – and he always seems to know when one of them is upset. "I'm fine," she says, not putting much into trying to convince him of the fact. No matter how convincing she sounds, he's not going to buy it.

He narrows his eyes and she looks away, feeling suddenly like she disappointed him somehow. "Are you sure? You haven't been… I mean things have been okay, right?"

"Define 'okay'," she says, embarrassed to hear how shaky her voice sounds. For a moment she pines for the old Lydia, the one who waltzed through life with an insincere smile and a well-timed insult. But that girl is gone, and for the most part Lydia is glad about that. Helping Scott and the others feels good; she just wishes it was enough to counter the buzzing and the whispers and all the other banshee nonsense she has to put up with.

Scott's eyes widen now, his face a picture of sympathy. He knows she's not okay, and she feels bad for trying to hide it, no matter how half-hearted the attempt. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice low in case any passersby should overhear what will no doubt turn into yet another discussion about the supernatural.

"The buzzing is back," she confesses quietly.

Scott stiffens. "Like the buzzing you were hearing when Barrow was here?"

She nods. "Not exactly like it, but… close enough."

Before Scott can answer, his phone goes off. Lydia signals to him to get it, and switches her attention to a group of lacrosse players practicing on the field. It's off-season, but some of the boys take the game very seriously. Scott and Stiles, on the other hand, spend their off-season saving innocent people and hunting down monsters.

When Scott looks back up at her, his face is paler than usual. "It's Allison," he says, as if that's enough of an explanation. "It's important – she says she found something about the rising evil that Deaton warned us about. She wants to meet me."

Lydia waves her hand, trying to appear airy. "Go."

Scott hesitates. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine," she says, and this time she does put effort into making it sound convincing – and it looks like Scott almost buys it.

"Do you want to come with us?" he asks.

The question makes Lydia's breath hitch in her throat. She'd been the last to know about the supernatural, the last to join the pack, and she's used to being on the outside now. It's not often that she's invited to meetings like this, and she appreciates the effort Scott is going to in order to make her feel welcome. But in the state she's in, she feels like she'll be more hindrance than help. "Thanks, but I can't. You guys go ahead."

"Are you sure?" Scott asks again, and she nods, not considering whether or not it's true. After giving her one more concerned look and a promise that he'll fill her in as soon as they know something, he dashes off.

Lydia lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, watching until Scott is out of sight. Then she turns to leave, only to run into something solid. Startled, she stumbles back, and then she looks up. Stiles is standing in front of her, his eyebrows almost flying off his forehead and his hands already reaching out to steady her.

"Woah," he says, helping her get her balance. "Where's the fire?"

She brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes, forcing herself not to notice the sparks that shoot across her skin where Stiles is holding her. He seems to notice, though, and quickly withdraws. What she does notice – although it takes her longer than she would like to admit – is that it's quiet. The buzzing has faded; it's not quite gone, but it's not drowning out her thoughts now. Her surprise must show in her face, because Stiles' expression changes from one of surprise to one of concern – almost identical to Scott's, in fact.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"It's fine," she says automatically, and then wonders why her first instinct had been to lie. This is Stiles, after all; if there's anyone she should be able to be honest with, it's him. "Not great," she adds, giving him a window, "but fine."

Stiles considers her, his gaze sweeping up and down her body in a way that makes her shiver – and she's not sure it's entirely in a good way. "Come on. I know a way to cheer you up."

Slightly reluctantly, she takes the hand he's holding out to her and allows him to lead her toward the field. They skirt around it, the only sounds the occasional shouts and grunts of the lacrosse players. A couple of them wave as they walk past, but most are too absorbed in their practice game. As they reach the other side of the field, the game stops, but Stiles doesn't look back, even when Danny calls his name. He just keeps walking, his hand tightening around Lydia's, leading her toward the chem labs.

"Hey," she says, starting to feel uneasy, "shouldn't you go back and talk to Danny? He was calling you."

"I know," Stiles says dismissively, flicking through his keyring until he finds an old silver one, which he holds tight as he leads the way into the building. She's about to ask what the key is for, but her question is answered before she gets a chance. The old silver key is for the chem lab, into which Stiles is now taking her. When he closes the door behind them, Lydia's anxiety increases, but she forces it away. This is _Stiles_. He's never been, nor will he ever be, dangerous. She's just hyper-alert because of the latest drama with Barrow, and because of her apparently growing banshee powers.

"So, what are we doing here?" she asks, hoisting herself up onto the nearest bench and swinging her legs back and forth.

Stiles grins, moving toward her. Before she can quite work out what's happening, he's right in front of her and their lips are meeting, and she's too shocked to pull away. And when the shock wears off, she realizes that she doesn't want to pull away. She's kissing Stiles – again – and it feels good. She leans into it, but just when it feels like her heart might explode from happiness, he breaks the kiss and steps back.

"Feeling better yet?" he asks, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms.

She's about to say that yes, she is feeling better, but something stops her. Something isn't quite right, and it's even more worrying that she can't pinpoint exactly what it is. Stiles is more bold than usual, sure, but he's still Stiles. He's –

- still. That's what's wrong. Stiles is always moving, fidgeting or bouncing or talking, but at the moment he seems calm, collected, totally in control. Totally unlike Stiles. He unfolds his arms and approaches her, and even that is worrying – his movements are too controlled, too careful. He's not acting like himself, and in Beacon Hills that's definitely cause for concern. And not just for him – for her. She's sure something's wrong now, but she doesn't know what – or if it's safe to talk to Stiles about it. There's something in his eyes, a kind of darkness that's surely never been there before, and her unease turns into the first hints of fear.

"What's wrong?" he inquires, even his voice carefully controlled. There's none of the edginess, the nervous energy, that characterizes the Stiles they all know and love.

"I was about to ask you the same question," she says, and that stops him in his tracks. He knows he's been made.

The clock on the wall at the back of the lab counts the seconds as they face each other, sizing each other up, deciding on a course of action.

Then the door flies open and decisions become irrelevant – it's all instinct. Lydia jumps to her feet, but she can't quite bring herself to back away. Stiles' gaze shifts to someone behind her, and she turns to see Allison and Scott in the doorway. She starts to tell them that something is wrong, but before she can, Allison slowly raises her crossbow and points it at Stiles. Something is seriously wrong now.

"Allison," she says in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

"Lydia, come back here," Scott says evenly, not taking his eyes off Stiles.

She glances from Scott to Stiles and back again, and then goes to stand with the alpha and the hunter. Stiles doesn't seem surprised, nor is he shocked by the fact that Allison is pointing an arrow at his chest.

"We know what you are," Allison almost growls, one hand still wrapped around the crossbow and the other one holding onto Lydia's, as much to protect her as to comfort her.

"And we're not going to let you do this," Scott adds, and Lydia's gaze flicks between the three of them as she tries to understand just what the hell is happening here.

"Oh, Scott." Stiles' smile turns into a smirk, one that freezes Lydia's blood. "You really think we're going to have a showdown in the middle of the chem lab?"

Without waiting for a reply Stiles turns around, walks over to the window, and flings it open. Fresh air spills into the room, and the buzzing in Lydia's head doubles its volume.

Stiles turns back to them, a look in his eyes that Lydia has never seen before. It's malice, something she hadn't even realized he was capable of, and it chills her to the bone.

"But when we do have that showdown, you won't wanna miss it," he says. With a wink he adds, "It'll be a riot."

Then he's gone, leaving behind a stunned silence. When Lydia finally forces her muscles to move, she turns to Scott and Allison and asks, "What the hell was that?"

Scott grimaces, eyes still fixed on the window through which Stiles just exited. "That," he says grimly, "was a nogitsune."

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**The more you guys review, the quicker I update. Show me some love and I'll see you soon. ;)**


	5. Galvanize

**So guys, I have a problem. And that problem is plot bunnies. I'm now working on like five TW stories at once, and I don't even know how that happened. Keep an eye on my profile if you want to know what I'm working on, because I'm forever changing ships and styles so you never know what you might find. Now, welcome to my new readers, and thank you to the people who reviewed last chapter. This story is completely finished so I can update as often as needed, so here's the deal: you guys get me to 30 reviews total and I'll update right away, failing that it will be about a week from now once I'm finished with exams. It's up to you; if you want to read more, then leave me a review. It'll make me feel good which means you should feel good too, so everyone wins. So here's the next chapter, enjoy, review, you know the drill.**

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_**Now.**_

Joining forces with a hunter is an incredibly risky move, and Stiles is well aware of that. If it goes wrong, he may end up having to kill Allison – and although he has no moral objections to that, it could potentially push Lydia away from him. He can't risk that, not with everything he's got planned for them. So he has to make sure this plan goes off without a hitch.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Lydia asks for the third time as they pull up outside Scott's house. Her hands are clasped in her lap and she keeps fiddling with an old penny she found on the ground before they got here.

"I'm sure," Stiles says, resting his hand on top of hers. She stops fiddling, but she still seems agitated. "I explained it all to you, remember? Because Allison's not supernatural, I can't just infect her like I did with you. We have to do something first."

"Create an opening," Lydia says, running a thumb along the penny. "I know. But what does that mean?"

Stiles leans back in the seat, placing both hands on the steering wheel and drumming on it. He's not used to feeling so full of nervous energy, but some of Stiles' – the real Stiles – traits seem to be bleeding through. "It means we have to make her vulnerable," he explains. "She doesn't have a natural link to the supernatural, so we have to give her a link to us – to evil."

To her credit, Lydia manages to suppress a snort of derision. "So we have to turn her evil before we can turn her evil?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Not quite. We give her a link, and then we exploit that so that we can infect her, bring her over to our side."

"This link," Lydia says thoughtfully, fiddling once again, "it's Isaac, right? I mean, it's not him, but it's to do with him."

"Right," Stiles says patiently. "We're going to turn her against Isaac – the anger is our link. Anger is a dangerous emotion, and Allison has a history of it. We can use it to our advantage – if we can trick her into going after Isaac, we can use that distraction to send one of my flies after her."

"And we're going to turn her against Isaac by messing with his head?" she asks.

"Essentially, yes." Stiles stops drumming and looks at her, wondering if she's really just nervous about the mission or if there's something else bothering her.

"Remind me again," she says slowly, "why we can't just mess with Allison's head? That way we wouldn't have to get Isaac involved at all."

Stiles feels a flicker of annoyance. Surely she can't care about that no-good orphan. She hasn't shown any concern for any member of the pack in a long while, and it's no time to start now. "Because it doesn't work like that," he says, and now he has to work to keep his voice even. "The flies work through magic – my magic. And they're very sensitive, so if they run into any other magic, no matter how small, they'll backfire."

"So they won't work?" Lydia asks, not looking at him. She's looking at the penny in her lap, turning it over and over in her hands.

"At best," he says. "At worst, they'll kill her."

"Right." Lydia looks up at him now. "So if you use your magic on her, it might stop the flies from working. But if you use it on Isaac, she won't be affected – and we can still make her vulnerable."

Stiles taps his nose knowingly. "You got it. Now -"

He breaks off, noticing movement out the window. Mrs McCall is stepping outside the house, waving to someone still inside. She calls out something, waits a second, and then gives a thumbs-up. Then she turns around, jogs down the path, and climbs into her car. Stiles checks his watch. Melissa's shift is starting in five minutes; no wonder she's in a hurry. Since Scott is out of the picture, the only one left in the house is Isaac. And that's exactly how they want it.

Stiles and Lydia wait until Melissa's taillights disappear around the corner, and then they get out of the car. Lydia tosses her penny on the ground as she quickly skirts around the car to be by Stiles' side.

"You know pennies are good luck," he says. "I think you might lose it if you throw it away."

Lydia leans her head against his shoulder, looking up at the McCall house. "I don't need luck," she says, so softly he thinks he misheard at first. "I've got you."

A warm glow spreads through Stiles, and he's aware that it's not entirely from him – part of it is from the real Stiles, trapped deep inside. He lets him have this moment, knowing it will come to an end soon enough. Stiles and Lydia cross the street and hurry up the path, still wary of being found out. It hasn't even been a day since they took Scott, but with that damn pack of his it's likely someone's become suspicious already. The last thing they need is someone interrupting them in the middle of this.

They come to a stop on the front doorstep, and Stiles examines the door. Lydia leans closer to him, shivering slightly – he assumes it's because of the cold, but he's not entirely sure.

"What are you doing?" she asks, quietly so as not to alert Isaac; werewolf super-hearing can be a pain sometimes.

"Checking for defenses," Stiles responds. "Scott had Deaton install some around the place, but it doesn't look like they're active. That's good for us. C'mon."

They creep around to the back of the house, and Stiles produces a spare key from his jacket pocket. In response to Lydia's puzzled look he just shrugs; who knew the perks of being Scott's best friend would come in handy when trying to corrupt his ex-girlfriend? The key slides easily into the lock, but the handle sticks. Stiles jiggles it a little, his senses split between the task at hand and the noises from inside as he tries to figure out what Isaac is doing. There's a TV in the background, but it's quiet – it doesn't sound like anyone's watching it. That probably means Isaac's up in his room, and Melissa forgot to turn it off on her way out of the house.

Finally the handle turns, and Stiles pushes the door open. It doesn't creak, which is a relief, and the room they walk into is empty, which is even more so. Stiles tucks the key back into his pocket and shares a thrilled look with Lydia. Part one complete. Her smile seems slightly hesitant, which puts him on alert at once. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks. "You can always change your mind, and we'll leave Allison alone."

Lydia seems to consider it for a moment, but then she shakes her head. "No. Let's see it through."

Stiles gives her another few moments in case she changes her mind, but she doesn't. When he's sure she's not going to back out, he starts up the stairs, placing each foot carefully so as not to alert Isaac. This plan will only work if they have the element of surprise; if they lose that, Isaac might be able to get away, or at the very least signal for help. They need to be in and out of here quickly, so that the next phase of the plan can begin.

Music is drifting from Isaac's room, and Stiles grins. It's the perfect cover, and will decrease the chances of Isaac hearing them. They reach the top landing, and it's then that Stiles realizes something's wrong. And then his smile just widens as he realizes that Isaac, the poor lost puppy, is trying to trick him. He signals to Lydia, and she takes the hint, slipping back into the shadows at the far end of the hall. She'll be hidden from sight, assuming Isaac isn't in his wolf form – and he shouldn't be, not at first.

With quick, light steps, Stiles crosses the hall and approaches Isaac's room. The door is slightly ajar, a triangle of light spilling out into the hall, but even before he walks in Stiles knows the room is empty. But he humors the wolf anyway, walking into the room and pretending not to know this is a trap.

As soon as his foot crosses the threshold, someone slams into him from behind. He staggers forward, impressed by the strength it must have taken to hit him like that. When he turns around, Isaac is standing in the doorway, a pained look on his face. "Scott told me you might come," he says, his tone making it clear that for once he wishes Scott had been wrong.

"Well isn't he a clever little wolfie," Stiles says, straightening up and glancing around the room. This had been the whole trap – there aren't any hidden surprises. "And what a good little wolf you are. Obeying your alpha's orders without question. Risking life and limb to stop the big bad demon. I hate to break it to you, Isaac, but you're not the hero."

Isaac opens his mouth to say something – to argue, no doubt – but before he can, someone grabs his arms and ties them behind his back. Before he even has time to let out a startled cry, Lydia lands a quick kick to the back of his legs and he goes down, landing heavily on his knees.

"Lydia!" he cries, half in surprise and half in pain. "What are you doing?"

Satisfied that her job is complete, she circles round and stands in front of him. Stiles watches calmly as Isaac struggles against the ropes, even his werewolf powers no match for the magically-enhanced ropes they'd brought especially for the occasion.

"Scott wants to help," Isaac says desperately, looking up at Stiles with pleading eyes. "Please, don't do this. Let Scott -"

"Scott," Stiles interrupts, pleased to see fear flash through Isaac's eyes, "doesn't really want much at the moment, on account of him being unconscious and all."

Isaac stops struggling, his eyes widening. "What did you do to him?"

"That's really not the point," Stiles says, nodding his head to Lydia. As one they walk toward Isaac, who tries to get away – but of course he can't. "The point is, Isaac, that you're about to help us turn your girlfriend evil. How do you feel about that?"

"You stay away from her," Isaac snarls.

Stiles laughs. The poor boy doesn't have a chance, but he does have spirit. "Let's get this started, shall we," Stiles suggests, crouching down in front of Isaac. Lydia stands behind him, holding Isaac's shoulders to stop him from struggling.

"Stop," Isaac says again, "Lydia, please stop. We want to help."

"Did it ever occur to you," she murmurs into his ear, "that I don't want your help?"

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Stiles pulls a vial from his pocket, unscrews the cap, and quickly tips the contents down Isaac's throat. The werewolf struggles – against the hands holding him and the poison entering his body – but there's nothing he can do. After a couple of agonizing minutes, he slumps to the ground. Lydia raises an eyebrow questioningly, and Stiles nods. She unties Isaac and steps back. The werewolf doesn't move.

"Isaac," Stiles says, and the boy looks up at him but still doesn't move. "Sit up."

Seemingly unaware of what he's doing, Isaac sits up. His eyes are glazed over, his expression completely empty. A blank canvas.

"I need you to listen to me," Stiles says, waiting for the other boy to nod before he goes on. The mind control potion – which is, incidentally, a mixture of herbs which can all be found at the local supermarket – is working, because Isaac focuses his full attention on Stiles, waiting for commands. "I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to believe me. Can you do that?"

Isaac nods so eagerly that his hair flops into his eyes. Stiles watches him carefully as he says the phrase that Isaac needs to know, the one that will either make or break them. "Now," Stiles says, rocking back on his heels and surveying the werewolf in front of him, "repeat that back to me."

Without any hesitation, Isaac does. "I killed Scott."

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**Poor Isaac. What do you think, will Stydia be able to get to Allison, or will someone stop them? Next chapter is a flashback to how the nogitsune first got to Lydia, so you won't want to miss that. See you all next time!**


	6. Restraint

**Okay, so I didn't get to my 30 reviews, BUT you few who did review are amazing, and a special shoutout to new reader Aaya123Woods who went wild reviewing my stories today and is a large part of why I'm updating so quickly. As always, more reviews = faster update. It takes me over an hour to write each chapter, it takes you less than a minute to review. I may not be good at math but even that makes sense to me. In response to a couple of things you guys said:**

**gossgal33 - don't worry, Lydia definitely has her reasons for being with the nogitsune. You'll see.**  
**Guest: here ya go.**  
**PrideandtheFall - go away, no one likes you. (No but really thanks for the review.)**  
**ILikeToSneeze - Stiles had a reason to let the nogitsune in, and you're on the right track with what it is.**  
**Aaya123Woods - Beautifully Diabolical Stiles is now my new favorite phrase, so thank you for that, and for your enthusiastic review.**

**All right. That's all. Enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review!**

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_**Then.**_

"A nogitsune," Lydia repeats later that day. They'd gone straight to Scott's after the run-in with Stiles at the school, and it had been almost painfully quiet on the drive over there. Lydia is still processing it, trying to understand how in the hell Stiles, _their_ Stiles, could be possessed by some kind of evil spirit. "Which is what, exactly?"

Allison rests her bow across her lap, tapping her fingernails on it as she looks at her best friend. "It's a type of kitsune," Allison explains. "That's a -"

"Japanese trickster spirit," Lydia cuts in, rolling her eyes when the others look at her in surprise. "Why are you always surprised when I actually know things?"

Scott shrugs, leaning forward, his hands clasped and dangling between his legs. He looks relaxed enough, but Lydia can see the anxiety in his eyes. "There are several types of kitsune," Scott says. "This one is the worst – a dark spirit, one that only wants destruction. It doesn't just want to trick people – it wants to destroy them."

Lydia blinks, letting the information sink in. It seems crazy to think that Stiles – possessed or not – could do anything more destructive than accidentally breaking a window with his lacrosse stick trying to catch a long pass. "How did you find out about this, anyway?"

"My dad has a… history with it," Allison says carefully. "We talked to a… friend of his, who explained what was going on. And then we talked to Kira -"

"Wait," Lydia says, holding up a hand to silence her friend. "What does Kira have to do with it?"

To his credit, Scott only hesitates for a fraction of a second. "She's a kitsune," he says. "But not a nogitsune – one of the good ones."

"So we have a kitsune, who's Kira, and a nogitsune, who's Stiles. One of them's good and one of them wants to kill us all. Does that about sum it up?" Lydia crosses one leg over the other and looks at her two friends – one a hunter, one an alpha. It occurs to her to wonder when life became so crazy, when Beacon Hills became a beacon for every supernatural creature in a hundred mile radius.

"Pretty much," Scott says, his voice strained. He doesn't say anything, but they can both tell how upset he is. He's the alpha, the guy with a plan and a way to save everyone, and yet he's on the verge of losing his best friend.

Alarm shoots through Lydia as she considers what it would be like if Allison was the one possessed. She certainly wouldn't be able to sit here calmly and explain what a nogitsune is and not have her mind be completely taken over with worry for her friend. But as she listens to Scott and Allison discuss how they found out about the nogitsune, Lydia realizes that part of her fear doesn't stem from concern for Allison – it's concern for them. A hunter possessed by a dark spirit would spell death for all of them, but Stiles? He's never been dangerous, and only very occasionally threatening.

She's worried for him, of course, but she's not worried for them. Even with a dark spirit attached to him, she just can't imagine him being dangerous. Then she remembers the look in his eyes back at the chem lab, and a shiver snakes up her spine.

"The problem is," Allison says as Lydia tunes back in, "that we don't know how to kill it without killing Stiles."

"Which is not an option," Scott says quickly, as if he'd been expecting Lydia to suggest that they off the guy she may well have feelings for (she hasn't quite admitted it to herself yet, but she knows she can't hide it much longer). "We need to find a way to save him and kill the demon."

"I know," Allison says tightly. "My dad's looking into it, and he'll let us know if he finds anything."

"What about the others?" Lydia asks. "The rest of the pack, I mean."

Scott sits up straight, his hands on his knees now and his expression growing more serious by the second. "Isaac is filling Derek in, and the twins are trying to track down Peter."

"What about your mom?" Allison asks.

"I've told her the basics," Scott says, looking like he wishes he hadn't had to do that. "I told her not to get involved unless she really has to, but she understands what's going on."

Something occurs to Lydia, something so horrible that she doesn't even want to say it aloud. But she finds herself saying it anyway. "What about the Sheriff? Does he… does he know?"

Scott and Allison share a look that makes it clear they hadn't even considered this. They're so used to automatically keeping the parents out of it, whether they're nurses, sheriffs, or even hunters. They'd probably been so busy trying to figure out what was wrong with Stiles that they hadn't even thought to tell his father.

"We're going to have to tell him," Scott says, covering his face with his hands. He stays like that for a couple of beats and then looks up, schooling his face into a calm expression. "I can do that once we finish here."

Allison dips her head, and for a second Lydia considers volunteering to go with Scott to tell the Sheriff. But she knows she couldn't handle that, not even with her alpha by her side, so instead she offers to drive Allison home. "Unless there's anything else we need to cover?" she asks.

Scott shakes his head. "Just stay away from Stiles," he says. "He might try to approach you – any of us – but we can't know for sure if it's him or the demon. It's safer for all of us if we just stay away."

Lydia nods in understanding, and as she does she feels something shift in her mind. The buzzing, which had faded into background noise since the chem lab, is rising now, like a river of noise, and she closes her eyes to try to block it out. She takes a couple of deep breaths, willing herself to stay calm, and when she opens her eyes both Scott and Allison are looking at her. Before they can ask what's wrong, she gets to her feet. "I'll be right back," she says, making a beeline for the bathroom.

It's colder in here, and that almost distracts her from the clutter in her mind. "Not now," she mutters, "please not now."

The buzzing gets louder, and this time there's voices mixed in, spiking every now and then, so that she can catch the odd word. _Help. Stop. Run._

She walks over to the sink, gripping it hard with both hands, and looks at the tap so she doesn't have to look at herself in the mirror. "I can't hear you," she mumbles, hating the way this makes her feel. For someone who's used to mastering everything from archaic Latin to obscure Russian poetry, he inability to master her banshee powers is particularly frustrating. Lydia is used to getting what she wants, and, more than that, just _knowing_ what she wants. But even now she doesn't know whether she wants the voices to stop or to become loud enough for her to hear. "Either speak up," she grits out, "or shut up."

The voices do neither, continuing to drift in and out of the background buzzing. Her skin begins to feel clammy as her panic increases, so with a trembling hand she turns on the tap, watching cold water spill from it for almost a minute before she cups her hands in the stream. Then she splashes it over her face, again and again, the coldness jolting her enough to quieten the buzzing for almost a whole second.

As she turns off the tap, something catches in her throat. She turns the tap back on and swallows some of the water, but that just seems to make it worse. She waits a couple of minutes, but it doesn't go away; if anything, it seems to get worse. Just as she's beginning to work herself up into a state of panic, there's a knock at the door.

"Lydia?" Allison calls. "Are you okay in there?"

"Fine," Lydia calls back, and then she makes the mistake of looking at herself in the mirror. She can vaguely recognize the girl looking back at her, but it's not quite her. The skin is too pale, the eyes too troubled, the lips no longer their usual vibrant shade of red. That last issue she can fix at least, and one carefully applied swipe of lipstick makes her look a little more like the old Lydia. So Stiles is possessed; they can deal with it, like they've dealt with everything else that's come their way.

She flings open the door, fixing Allison with her best smile. Allison blinks, taken aback, but doesn't mention it. "Scott's already gone to the Sheriff's. Are you ready to go now?"

"Sure." Lydia closes the door carefully behind her, leaving that old, washed-out Lydia behind her. She's not the kind of girl to run and hide, to turn away when things get tough. She's the kind of girl to fight it out, and that's what she's going to do.

This resolve lasts until they're halfway to Allison's house, and then Lydia starts to realize that something is wrong. The buzzing has faded again, but the voices are louder. Or rather, the _voice_ is louder. There's only one now, and it's not one of the ones she'd heard back in the bathroom. And something tells her that this isn't the kind of voice she should listen to. It's not the echo of someone dying, and she almost wishes it were. That would be less terrifying than what the voice is actually saying.

She tries to ignore it, but the effort makes her hands shake and she can hardly grip the steering wheel. She curls her fingers more tightly around it, staring straight ahead and not letting herself fall into her mind. It gets harder as the night gets darker, clouds obscuring the moon and stars and making Lydia feel cold.

"Hey," Allison says in concern. "Lydia, you're shaking. Are you okay?"

"I would be if people stopped asking me that," she snaps, and then she bites her lip. She's not that annoyed by it, so where did that outburst come from? Allison didn't deserve it, and Lydia opens her mouth to apologize, but what comes out instead is, "Just mind your own business and stay out of my way."

Allison bites back what is undoubtedly a sharp response, and turns her gaze out the window. Lydia takes another deep breath, but it's more shaky than calming. About a block away from Allison's house, the buzzing stops. And the voice rings out in Lydia's mind, crystal clear and filling every crevice.

_Kill her._

Woah. That thought had definitely not come from Lydia… right? Her hands are shaking so badly that she has to pull over, ignoring Allison's startled cry.

_Kill her. Do it now._

"I won't," she says, not realizing that she'd spoken aloud until Allison gives her a puzzled look. "I won't do it."

"Do what?" Allison twists around in her seat so she's facing her friend. "What's going on?"

_Kill. Her._

"I can't," she says, not sure whether she's talking to the voice in her head or to her best friend. She can't explain what's going on, because she doesn't have a freaking clue.

"Lydia." Allison's voice catches and she reaches a hand out to hold Lydia's, but the latter jerks out of the way. "If you're worried about Stiles -"

"I'm not," she says, and the words sound true even though she knows it's a lie. Without looking at Allison, she says firmly, "Get out."

"What?" Disbelief makes Allison's voice sharp.

Lydia turns to look at her, her gaze hard and her mouth a thin line. "I said get out. _Now_."

Something in her voice must get through to her, because Allison doesn't argue. She hesitates, but then she opens the door and steps out. She leans in through the open window, probably intending on saying something comforting, but Lydia doesn't want to hear it. She turns back to the front, revs the engine, and guns forward. Allison stumbles back, throwing her hands up, but Lydia doesn't look back.

She just drives, no purpose or destination in mind, just hoping that she can forget that there are some things she can't outrun.

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**Next chapter n-Stiles and Lydia make their move against Allison, and you'll find out if it works. So get reviewing to find out what happens. ;)**


	7. Frenemy

**What's up, lovely reviewers. I notice a few of you have stopped reviewing, and yet I have some more lurkers - so as always, just a reminder that reviews make me really happy and less likely to kill everyone off in the end, so if you have a spare minute, any review is welcome. Thank you to my regulars - you know who you are - because you're all wonderful and you make me wish I could update every day. And as usual, I can't help myself so I've been writing lots of other things, so if you like my work feel free to take a stroll through my other stories. For now, here is the next chapter. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

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_**Now.**_

It starts to rain as Lydia pulls out of the McCall's street. Isaac's already gone, taking a cross-country route that will get him to Allison's more quickly than the drive will. They'll meet him there in a couple minutes, but in the meantime they have this moment to themselves. So far everything's going to plan, and as long as Isaac follows the script they should be able to get Allison over to their side. Scott's already out of the picture, and this will probably incapacitate Isaac for at least a day afterwards, so the pack will be without a leader. Without protection. Without a chance.

Stiles glances over at Lydia, whose face is serene as she navigates through the dark streets. Every now and then they pass under a streetlamp and the light washes over her, bathing her in a dim glow. He has to admit, he can see what the real Stiles sees in her. She'd seemed a little jittery at first, but now the plan is underway she hasn't hesitated. She'll do whatever it takes to see it through.

They only have a few minutes, but it's long enough. Stiles leans the chair back and closes his eyes, immersing himself in darkness. When he opens his eyes, he's back in the room with concrete walls and a metal floor. The fluorescent lights flicker against his skin, making him feel alive. Then he catches sight of the real Stiles, who looks very much dead. He's cowered in the corner, his hands over his face and a low moan slipping through his lips.

"Hey," says the Stiles who isn't really Stiles, the nogitsune-Stiles.

The real Stiles looks up and then away again quickly, as if he thinks that will change the facts. He doesn't say anything, and he clamps his mouth shout, cutting off the moan.

"You know what's going on, don't you?" n-Stiles asks, sauntering over to him. He hasn't been to visit as often as he should have, but he's always aware of Stiles in the back of his mind – literally. He's trapped here, able to see what n-Stiles is doing but unable to do a blessed thing about it. "You can see it. We've already got Lydia, and we're going after Allison now. And Scott, well, he's not looking so good."

Stiles says something so low that n-Stiles can't hear him.

"Hm?" says n-Stiles, crouching down in front of him. The boy doesn't look at him, but that's okay. "What was that?"

Now Stiles does look at him, pain making his eyes dark and twisting his face into an expression that makes it look like someone is actually torturing him. That's the beauty of it, n-Stiles thinks. He doesn't even have to touch him to hurt him; emotional pain works just as well. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because," n-Stiles replies smoothly, "it's what I do. It's what I live for, what I breathe for – and what you'll die for."

Stiles swallows, making no move to stop the tears that are rolling down his cheeks. "Are you going to kill me?"

The lights buzz overhead, and behind that is the faint sound of rain. "Not just you, Stiles. All of them. Maybe I'll start with Scott."

All the color drains from Stiles' face at the mention of his best friend. n-Stiles had felt the real Stiles' reaction to Scott's kidnap, and that had only added to the excitement. "Please stop," Stiles begs.

The sound of rain gets louder, and n-Stiles knows it's time to leave. With a last crooked smile at the real Stiles, he opens his eyes. Lydia is tapping impatiently on the window of the car, gesturing for him to get out. He looks past her, at the Argents' building, but he can barely see it through the driving rain. When he gets out of the car Lydia grabs his hand and almost drags him to the door. It's easy enough getting in, and they know that Mr Argent is out tonight. Stiles reflects on how convenient it is that the parents are always away when they need them to be – it saves killing them, for now at least. Allison's front door is ajar, as instructed, and they slip inside and make their way to her room.

That door is wide open, and they can see both Allison and Isaac inside. Stiles hands Lydia a small red sachet that smells vaguely like rosemary. She sniffs it, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What is this?" she asks.

"It's imbued with a kind of invisibility spell," he explains, and she shrugs and tucks it into her bra. Stiles has one too, and although it's not for invisibility in the traditional sense, it will still get the job done. Allison and Isaac will be able to see them, but will forget as soon as they have. They can watch without fear of interrupting or being attacked.

He feels a slight shiver as the spell kicks in, and he and Lydia walk into the room. Allison glances at them, but then her eyes glaze over and she looks away again; Isaac's gaze doesn't shift from Allison's face.

"What is this?" Allison asks.

Stiles guides Lydia over to the bed and they sit down side by side, their knees brushing and their fingers intertwined. Isaac and Allison are standing two feet apart, he with his hands in his pocket and she with her arms wrapped around herself. They've already missed the start, but they haven't missed the best part.

"I have something to tell you," Isaac says, his voice lower than usual. He sounds sure of himself, like he had – Stiles notes with some amusement – when he was still running around with Derek and his pack. He's gone soft since he joined Scott's pack, but here's a glimpse of Isaac the way he used to be.

"Wh-what is it?" Allison clears her throat to try to cover up the shake in her voice, and to her credit she resists the urge to take a step back. Stiles shares a look with Lydia, silently conveying his excitement – Allison was definitely a good choice. She's weak enough to be manipulated, but strong enough to be an asset.

Isaac lowers his head, looking at his army boots caked with mud and leaves, and then he looks back up at her. His eyes are glowing red. Allison takes that step back now, her hand flying to her mouth. Beside Stiles, Lydia gasps.

"Is he really an alpha?" Lydia asks, sounding more amazed than confused. "I mean, did you… _Can_ you…?"

"No," Stiles says with only a hint of bitterness. "I don't have that kind of power. But a glamor's easy enough to produce."

Allison steps forward now, her hand still covering her mouth. She slowly lowers it, staring at Isaac in amazement. "You… you're an alpha. How did this… What did you do?"

The pieces seem to fall into place in her mind – the only way to become an alpha is to kill theirs. Unless you happen to be a true alpha, but Scott is the first one of those that Beacon Hills has seen.

Isaac shakes his head and the red glow fades from his eyes. "I did what I had to do," he says, his voice expressionless and his eyes blank.

"Did you…" Allison starts, then cuts herself off and tries again. "Does Scott know about this?"

A smile spreads across Isaac's face, but it quickly slips into a smirk. Stiles looks at Lydia again, seeing the eagerness in her eyes; this is where things really start happening. "It would be kind of strange if he didn't," Isaac says, "since he was there."

This seems to trip up Allison's thoughts. She puzzles it through, evidently trying to imagine a scenario in which Scott would stand by and let Isaac become an alpha. Then one thought in particular catches her, and Stiles can see in her eyes that she's doing everything she can not to acknowledge it.

"Isaac," Allison says, her voice shifting from scared to suspicious, "you didn't… I mean, Scott's okay, right? He didn't get hurt?"

"No," Isaac assures her, "he didn't get hurt." He pauses just long enough for relief to wash over Allison's face, and then he deadpans, "He died."

Allison's eyes widen as she searches his face for some hint of a lie or uncertainty, anything that will tell her that this isn't true. Finding none, she says quietly, "Scott's dead?" Then she bites her lip and changes her tune. "No. _No._ It's not possible."

She shakes her head to emphasize her point, but Stiles can see the news sinking into her mind, seeping into her heart. That was the key to this whole plan – not her feelings for Isaac, but her feelings for Scott. Which is why Stiles had engineered it so that Allison will believe Isaac did something unforgiveable. Allison's gone off the deep end before, remorselessly hunting down the people she believed responsible for her mother's death, and making her believe Scott is dead is a sure way to push her down that path again.

"It's not just possible," Isaac says. "It's _true_."

"It can't be," she says, but tears are already welling in her eyes. "Scott can't be dead. He just can't. What makes you so sure he is?"

With perfect timing, Isaac cracks a smile and says, "Because I killed him."

Stiles grips Lydia's hand more tightly, knowing they're headed into the final confrontation. She squeezes his hand, and he can feel her blood pumping, her heart racing. She's as excited as he is.

"You killed Scott?" Allison says, a tear already sliding down her cheek even though she tries to sound dismissively sceptical. "Isaac, you would never do that. You would never hurt Scott. He's your friend -"

"And he's also an alpha." Isaac feigns embarrassment. "I'm sorry. He _was_ an alpha. How else was I going to become one?"

"You killed Scott so you could take his place in the pack?" Allison says, and it looks like she might actually be taking him seriously now. The magic-induced darkness in Isaac's eyes is incredibly convincing.

"You really think I wanted to stay a beta forever?" Isaac asks derisively. "This has been my plan all along, Allison. And now that's Scott's out of the way, we can start our own pack."

"I'm not a werewolf," Allison points out, her eyes roaming the room in search of a weapon.

Isaac cocks an eyebrow. "Not yet."

Allison's eyes snap back up to him. "No," she says, seeing his alpha-red eyes and knowing what it means. "Isaac, _no_."

Ignoring her, he crosses the space between them, fangs bared and a hungry look in his eyes. He grabs her before she can get away, and he lowers his mouth to her arm –

- only for her to shove him away as hard as she can. Stiles almost cheers – she's come a long way as a hunter. Isaac straightens and comes at her again, but she keeps fending him off, and with each push Stiles can see her come to terms with the truth – or at least the truth that Isaac had presented her. She believes he killed Scott, and as soon as the anger kicks in, they'll be able to finish their plan.

"Stop!" she shouts, reaching for her ring daggers – the same ones she'd cut him with last time she'd gone on a quest for revenge. He doesn't stop, and she doesn't hesitate. She charges at him, and in that moment Stiles knows they've won.

Stiles unfurls his fist, revealing a small black fly on his palm. It flutters its wings and then shoots forward, straight to Allison. She swallows it without realizing, but a second later she pulls up short, coughing. Isaac freezes, hands in front of him in a defensive posture. Stiles and Lydia hold their breath. Allison wheezes, coughs again, and then stands up straight.

A long moment passes. Stiles whispers a string of words to break the invisibility spell, and as one the other two turn to them. Allison blinks a couple of times, and then she smiles. She turns to Isaac, very deliberately, and punches him in the face. He drops to the floor without a sound. Then Allison turns back to Stiles and Lydia.

"So," she says, swinging the ring daggers absently on her fingers, "you guys got any plans for tonight?"

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**Okay, so, I've always kind of been Team Human (y'know, back when there was one) and I love the idea of Stiles, Lydia, and Allison - as the non-wolfy members of the pack - being underestimated only to reveal that they're totally badass. So here you go. What do you think they're going to get up to? Now, next chapter something really, really big happens, so review away and I'll have it up soon. Trust me, it's big.  
**


	8. Raving

**Hey everyone, and thanks for the reviews. It's been great to see some of you over in my other stories too; you guys are the reason I keep writing, so don't underestimate how important a simple review is. This chapter gets very dark, so be warned. As always, reviews make me really happy and more likely to update soon, and also motivate me to work on my in-progress stories (info's in my profile, if you're interested). So enjoy the chapter, and I hope to hear from you all in the reviews!**

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_**Then.**_

It had been bad enough when she was hearing echoes, but now she's hearing commands. Voices telling her to do things that go against her nature, her morals, the person she's trying so desperately to be. It's not what they're actually saying that scares her the most – it's the fear that she might listen to them. Last night she'd driven for over an hour, and the most she'd managed to achieve was to replace the voices with that damned buzzing.

Next morning the voices are back, and they're louder than ever. As she gets ready for the days – adding extra dashes of color to her outfit and an almost unnecessary amount of flair to her makeup in the vain hope that it will help her convince herself that everything's nowhere near as dark as it feels – Lydia notes that it's actually mostly one voice, the one that had told her to kill Allison in the car last night. Logically she knows she would never do anything to hurt her friend, if she has any say about it – but the problem is that she might _not_ have a say.

During the drive to school her mind occupies itself by replaying the horrible events that had led to her becoming entangled in the supernatural: Peter biting her, her body rejecting the bite, being manipulated into helping Peter resurrect himself, saving Jackson, being attacked by the darach. And, with more than a slight pang, she remembers that awful night at the motel, when all the wolves had been hit by wolfsbane and tried to kill themselves. She normally doesn't let herself think of that night, but today it lingers in her mind.

Stiles had talked to her that night, admitting that he thought she might have been somehow involved in the murders. She'd known that he'd had suspicions that she might have been the kanima, and then he had thought she was connected to the darach. If Stiles, the person who had always believed the best of her even when she didn't deserve it, had thought she was capable of hurting people, who's to say it's not going to happen now?

She's still lost in her thoughts when she walks into first period, and almost bumps into someone in the doorway. For a second her heart catches in her throat and she looks up at him, but it's not him. It's not Stiles; and even though she knows that if it was, it would still be the nogitsune, she's disappointed. "Sorry," she says to the boy, whose name she can't even recall, and she tries to step around him.

He puts his hands on her shoulders, steadying, and tries to catch her eye. "You okay, Lydia?"

A hint of guilt shivers through her at the fact that she doesn't know his name when he knows her, but it's quickly washed away in the rush of emotions that follows. She feels the tickle in her throat again, and she coughs into her hand. The boy looks concerned, and she waves her hand to indicate that she's fine. "Yeah," she says, "thanks."

She expects him to move out of her way but he doesn't. He doesn't even move until the teacher brushes past them, and then Lydia takes the opportunity to slip past the boy and hurry to her seat, but she can feel his eyes on her as the teacher starts the lesson. Normally she would pay attention, but everything in her head is still fuzzy and loud and it's impossible to concentrate on anything given the enormity of the fact that Stiles, their Stiles, is missing. Possessed. God knows where doing god knows what.

Allison slides a note across the desk to her, not lifting her eyes from her book. Lydia takes it and unfurls it, expecting her to ask about what happened last night. Instead, it says:

_Are you okay?_

She wishes people would stop asking her that. She debates not answering, but she owes Allison this much at least, given how abrupt she'd been with her last night. She scribbles back a suitably vague but affirmative response, all the while listening for the voice, the one that had told her to kill Allison. It doesn't have a thing to say, and the rest of the morning passes by quietly. At lunch she sits with Allison and Scott, instinctively, even though part of her thinks she should be away from them. If she's going to do something, if she's going to let the voice control her, then she shouldn't endanger the rest of the pack. Isaac joins them halfway through lunch, bearing the news that Derek is now on the hunt for Stiles, which does little to settle Lydia's stomach.

She can feel someone watching her, and she scans the cafeteria, tuning out Scott and Isaac talking about how much they should tell the sheriff. In the far corner is the boy from class, the one whose name she can now recall – Carl. They only have the one class together, but she's seen him around before – and she's seen him seeing _her_. But she'd always been too distracted to pay him any mind, too busy with her latest conquest to give a second thought to the boy with dark hair and impossibly bright blue eyes.

But she's paying attention to him now, unsettled by the way he's looking at her. She raises her eyebrows, letting him know that he's been seen, but he doesn't look away. He just keeps watching her, curious and unapologetic, until finally she turns back to the pack.

Allison, astute as always, notices that Lydia isn't acting like herself, and doesn't leave her side for the rest of the afternoon. Lydia puts up with this because her friend is only trying to help, but it bothers her that her friends think she needs protecting. She's definitely the weakest one in the pack; the only skills she has are either irrelevant or abilities she can't control, and if it comes down to a fight she's going to be useless. But she wants to help, and she can't do that if everyone is always trying to keep her out of trouble.

"Okay," she says at the end of the day, leaning against her locker and surveying her best friend, "what are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Allison asks, feigning innocence as she applies another coat of lip gloss.

"I mean," Lydia says pointedly, "that you don't have to follow me around all day. I know I was acting a little _off_ last night, but I'm fine now."

She almost adds _I promise _but her lips won't quite form the words. And as Allison keeps looking at her, the desire to lie starts to dissipate. She doesn't want to do this alone, and she doesn't need to keep it to herself. If she's really involved somehow, if she's going to pose a threat to any of her friends, then she needs to let them know what's going on.

"… you can tell me," Allison is saying, fiddling with the lock on her locker.

"I know." Lydia swallows, feeling that same tickle in her throat, and then starts to explain that she's been hearing voices and she's scared she's going to act on them. She tries to tell Allison everything, but all she manages to say is, "I'm just worried about Stiles. It doesn't feel right, being here without him. I can't stop thinking about it."

Lydia barely even hears Allison's response because she's so busy trying to deconstruct what she herself had said. She hadn't meant to say that, but it's not untrue. She does miss Stiles, and she's worried about him, but that's not why she's acting so strangely. After Allison has finished reassuring her, Lydia tries again.

"Last night, something…" She trips over her tongue and her words stumble to a stop. She wants to tell Allison what's been going on, but she physically can't. "Allison, I think that..."

Her words falter again and her eyes widen. She literally can't tell her best friend what's going on, and somehow that's more terrifying than what is actually going on.

"Lydia, what is it?" Allison asks, not pretending to be innocent or ignorant anymore. There's no time for games or tricks, not when the nogitsune is still out there driving Stiles' body around. He wasn't at school today, which makes it seem like Stiles isn't in control anymore.

"It's nothing," she says, and then she turns on her heel and walks away. Allison calls out behind her but Lydia doesn't let her steps slow or her resolve falter. She's sure something's going on now, something that stopping her from being able to communicate with her friends, so it must be up to her to figure out what it is.

When she reaches the parking lot, it's almost empty. She pauses with her keys in her hand, praying that she's not sensing what she thinks she's sensing. But sure enough, it's Carl, standing behind her with a polite smile on his face.

"Hey Lydia," he says. "Can we talk?"

She darts a look around the parking lot. It's empty now. She turns back to him. "We are talking."

"I know," he says, seeming jittery. Something about that causes Lydia's heart to thud faster against her chest. "I mean, somewhere private."

Normally she would say no, she would tell him that she's not interested, but whatever force had stopped her from telling the truth to Allison takes control again now, and before she knows it she's nodding her head.

Carl seems relieved, and he jerks his head to indicate that they make their way up behind the gym. She follows him, and as they walk she realizes why his manner unsettles her. He's full of the same kind of restless energy that Stiles was. _Is_. She catches her slip-up with past tense and actually comes to a stop, hating herself for even thinking it. Stiles is possessed; he's not dead.

"What's up?" Carl asks, turning back to her, but she shakes her head and follows him up the slight incline, and around the back of the gym.

As soon as they get there, she knows what's going on. And she knows she's not interested. There's a hungry look in his eyes, explaining why he's been watching her – he wants to do more than look. He takes a step forward and she backs up, until she's against the wall. Panic flutters in her chest, but then something else takes over, something that runs deeper than her instincts. Something that takes control entirely.

Carl keeps pushing against her, and even pins her arms against the wall, his lips brushing her cheek and then planting a trail down her neck. She shudders, but then it's like she takes a step outside herself, like she's not in control and she's not sure she wants to be. She brings her knee up and rams it into Carl's stomach, causing him to let go at once. Her instincts tell her to get out while she can, but she's not in control anymore.

She grabs his shoulders and slams him against the wall, hard, watching shock flicker through his eyes and hearing a low groan escape from his lips. He slumps to the ground and covers his face with his hands, looking at her through his fingers. She thinks he's begging for her to stop but she can't really hear him. She crouches down beside him, and now he tries to fight back, pushing her so that she almost loses her balance. Almost. She manages to maneuver herself so that she's straddling him, pinning him to the ground.

"Lydia," he gasps, "stop. What are you doing?"

"What I'm supposed to," she says calmly, in a voice that belongs to her but seems to come from somewhere else entirely. She's not sure how but suddenly there's a knife in her hand, and she manages to hold back for a second, just long enough for him to look her in the eye, and then she sees the same sickening lust and she plunges the knife into his heart.

She expects to scream, because that's what banshees do, but she doesn't. She expects to hear the voices pipe up again, but they don't. Her hands are covered in blood and her heart is thudding against her chest and she expects to feel a wave of guilt… but she doesn't.

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**Bear with me. I know what I'm doing. Next chapter Stiles and Lydia let Allison in on a little secret...**


	9. Visionary

**Sup guys. Thanks for the reviews. Keep reviewing like that, because I can update as often as necessary - and once I finish publishing this story, I have more to come. Speaking of which, I recently started a new story, and due to the nature of the project I will probably be in need of a beta reader. So if anyone knows someone who'd be interested, let me know. For now, enjoy the chapter. Or at least, don't hate me after the chapter. Consider that a warning.**

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_**Now.**_

It feels like all the weight has been lifted from Allison's shoulders. She casts a dismissive glance down at Isaac, who's still on the ground, and wonders why she cared enough to attack him. She can't even remember what it had been about, just that she had been furious – which makes her laugh now. There's nothing to be furious about. Life is good, she's here with her friends, and they have the whole night ahead of them.

Stiles and Lydia are still sitting on the bed, and it occurs to her that she wasn't aware of them coming into her room, but somehow their presence is unsurprising. They share a look, and then they stand up. For one wild moment she thinks Lydia is going to hug her, but then the other girl just skirts around her and nudges Isaac with her toe.

"Will he remember this when he wakes up?" Lydia asks.

Stiles folds his arms and looks down at the limp body of the werewolf. "Yeah, he'll remember all of it. But he won't wake up for a few hours, I'd say. You hit him pretty hard -" now he turns to Allison "- which is quite impressive, by the way, for -"

"For a girl?" she interrupts, raising an eyebrow and accompanying this with another twirl of the ring daggers.

Stiles makes a face, like he's amused by her audacity. "I was going to say, for someone who looks like she's running on about two hours of sleep."

"You're one to talk," Allison shoots back, equally amused. She's aware that Stiles is a nogitsune, she knows what he's done to Lydia, and yet somehow she doesn't care. She should be calling Scott or fighting Stiles or saving Lydia, but instead she just wants to do something wild, something reckless, to make her remember what it's like to feel alive. "Before you disappeared you were practically a zombie."

"And now," Stiles says, his eyes landing on Lydia, "I'm something so much worse."

Allison is aware that this should be intimidating, that she should be scared, but she isn't – and she wonders why she had been scared to begin with. Instinctively she knows that Stiles is on her side, and so is Lydia, and that's good enough for her.

"So what do we do now?" Lydia asks, her eyes trained on Allison like she thinks the other girl is about to jump out the window.

Stiles checks his watch, and Allison is struck by how deliberate his movements are. In the back of her mind is an image of the old Stiles, the way he used to be – nervous energy and restless fidgeting and constant movement. There was always a glimmer of excitement in his eyes, even when he was terrified, and Allison had been equally comforted and annoyed by the way he was always moving. Now his movements are slow and calculated, at complete odds with the guy she remembers. And, if she's honest, she much prefers this version.

"We have a bit of time to play with," Stiles says, his voice steady and not a hint of unease anywhere about him. Allison remembers the last time she'd seen Stiles, but that seems like a lifetime ago. "Why don't we take Allison back to the house?"

"You mean the hideout," Lydia says.

Allison blinks. "You have a hideout?"

"Actually," Lydia says, looping her arm through Allison's and steering her toward the door, "_we_ have a hideout."

Stiles brings up the rear as the two girls exit the house, leaving Isaac lying on the floor. Apparently he's not a threat, because the other two don't even think of bringing him with them – or of killing him. Allison considers killing him, but something stops her. It's not time yet. She and Lydia slide into the back seat and Stiles takes the wheel, and on the way to the hideout Lydia fills Allison in on everything they've been up to since they both went missing. Allison listens with growing amusement, and she briefly wonders why she doesn't feel worse about this. Isn't this everything she's supposed to be against, everything she and Scott and the others had once fought to prevent? But here they are, she and Stiles and Lydia, three paragons of good who have fallen off the path.

"What about Scott?" she asks, realizing that Lydia hasn't mentioned him yet.

"Scott is… occupied," Lydia says evasively, which piques Allison's interest. She's about to ask more about him, but Lydia keeps talking. "We have some things we need to take care of in the next couple of days – the twins, for example, and Derek – but I'm sure you can help us with that, right?"

"Absolutely," Allison says without a second thought. She's aware that just this morning she had been in Scott's pack, but she understands that she's stepped away from that. She's with Lydia and Stiles now, and as she fiddles with the daggers in her lap, she realizes that she's perfectly okay with that.

They pull up outside an old building, the kind that Allison would never usually give a second look, but the way Stiles and Lydia are looking at it now makes it clear that this is their home – or their hideout, at least. It sounds like this is their base, but sometimes they spend a night or two at a hotel. She starts to thank them for giving her this chance – she knows that she could have ended up like Isaac, or worse – but they're halfway up the stairs before she's even opened her mouth. She jogs to catch up, and meets them just as they're opening the door.

It's dark inside, but somehow that makes it more welcoming than foreboding. Still, she sticks close to Lydia as they make their way down the hall and into the kitchen, where Stiles gives them both plates of what look like freshly made chocolate brownies.

Lydia picks one up, looking at it slightly suspiciously. "When did you have time to make these?"

Stiles, on his way to the fridge, stops to plant a kiss on the top of her head. "I'm a man of many talents."

Allison snickers, wondering how this can possibly feel so relaxing. She knows there's still work to be done, but for now they can relax – and god, it's been so long since she's relaxed. They eat their brownies in relative quiet, but she can sense there's something the others aren't telling her. She wants to ask what it is, but, again, she knows that it's not the right time. So she nibbles on a brownie and listens as Lydia and Stiles start up a conversation about how they think Isaac will react when he wakes up.

"Personally," Stiles is saying, "I'm hoping he goes down the revenge route. He'll come after us, and we'll go after him, and everyone will have a good time."

"Except Isaac," Lydia points out, and the three of them laugh. "I think he's probably just going to go running off to find Scott – which won't end well for him."

There's something in her voice that makes Allison realize she's missing something. She looks from Lydia to Stiles and back again, then sets her half-eaten brownie back on the table, beside her daggers, and says, "Okay, spill. What aren't you telling me?"

Stiles looks at Lydia out of the corner of his eyes. "It's not something we should tell you…"

"It might be better if we show you," Lydia finishes with a sly smile.

"All right," Allison says, her curiosity increasing with every second. "Show me then."

The other two share one of their knowing looks, and then Stiles beckons to her. The two girls follow him back down the hall, to a wide door that seems to lead down to the basement. Allison's curiosity is joined by excitement, although she's not quite sure what's causing it. An hour ago she would have been terrified if she'd been led down to the basement by Stiles or Lydia, but now she feels safe with them, almost at home.

The door opens, a light flicks on, and Stiles steps back to let her through. "Ladies first," he says graciously.

Lydia steps back too. "Go ahead."

Allison walks down the stairs, her excitement increasing with each step, so that by the time she gets down to the bottom she can hardly contain it. It takes her a moment to realize what's strange about the room, but then it clicks – it's not empty. There's someone in the far corner, huddled up against the wall. But as soon as he sees her, Scott unfurls his limbs and almost jumps to his feet, but he staggers a couple of steps and then sags to the ground.

"Scott!" she says, her surprise genuine but her concern feigned.

"Allison," he says, dragging himself into a sitting position. She looks him over, but she can't see any visible injuries besides a bruise on his temple. He seems weak, though, which means that Stiles and Lydia must have done something to him. "Oh, no."

He slumps back to the ground, looking up at her with a pained expression. She glances back at Lydia and Stiles, and then turns back to Scott.

"They got you too," he says, even his voice pained, like the words are almost too heavy to balance on his tongue. "Stiles and Lydia… they got you too…"

Seeing an opportunity, Allison takes it. This is exactly the kind of reckless, ruthless thing she'd been hoping for. "Yeah," she says, kneeling down next to him and doing her best to act like a panicked teen. "They jumped me outside my house."

She can hear Stiles and Lydia close the door, but Scott doesn't notice; he's too focused on the fact that two of his friends have apparently kidnapped his ex-girlfriend. Allison finds herself thinking about how ephemeral – she remembers when Scott went through the phase of using that word in every second sentence – everything is, and how quickly they can change. Not long ago she would have been horrified to see Scott trapped in a place like this, but now she's merely mildly disappointed that she wasn't the one who put him here.

"We need to find a way to get out of here," Scott says, hauling himself into a more upright position. It looks like it causes him actual pain, and Allison wonders what the others did to him.

"There isn't a way," Allison says, projecting the perfect amount of pain and fear into her voice. Scott takes her hand in his, offering her comfort, and she doesn't bother to tell him that she doesn't need it. "Stiles, he's… he's not himself. There isn't anything of him left. It's all just… darkness."

"No." Scott shakes his head. "Stiles is still in there somewhere. I'm not going to give up on him."

This makes Allison smile. Oh, Scott and his never-ending optimism and faith in people. She knows there's nothing left of Stiles – or rather, the tiny sliver that _is_ left won't be enough to even slow them down. It's over for Stiles, and it's over for the old Allison who used to pine over Scott and question her every move and follow in her father's footsteps. And with that ending will come an even more glorious beginning.

"You never give up on people," Allison muses. "That's either your greatest strength or your biggest weakness."

Scott narrows his eyes, trying to figure out if she's giving him a compliment or a warning. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Allison says, getting to her feet, "that you should stop being so trusting. It's going to get you killed some day. Maybe even today."

"Allison," Scott says, standing up now too even though he winces with the effort. "What are you talking about?"

His voice is quiet, like he's not sure he actually wants to hear the answer, and his face falls as Allison shoots him a smile. She's played him long enough; it's time to let him in on the game.

"Shh," she says, resting a finger on his lips. He stops breathing, and he freezes; not scared but wary. Oh, but he's going to be scared later on. That much she knows for sure. "It's going to be okay."

Scott grabs her hand, slowly lowering it, searching her face the whole time. She can see the exact moment he catches on. "They got you," he says, his voice heavy with defeat. "They didn't get _to_ you. They _got_ you. They turned you. You're with them, aren't you?"

His voice spikes at the end, like the thought is too horrible even to contemplate, and Allison's smile widens. She taps her nose knowingly, and Scott closes his eyes like she physically hit him. She can follow his train of thought – she's Allison, defender of the weak and protector of the helpless. She's not meant to fall prey to the charms and manipulation of dark spirits. She's supposed to be invincible. She probably is now.

Lydia calls to her from the top of the stairs, the door open once again, flung wide open because they know that Scott is in no fit state to even try to escape. He's outnumbered and he's already weak, so any escape attempt would be suicide. He's brave, but he's not stupid – well, not always, anyway.

"Allison," Scott calls as she starts toward the door, "don't let them control you. You're stronger than that."

She blows him a kiss over her shoulder as she trots up the stairs, meeting Lydia at the top and leading the way back into the hall. Scott's words ring in her ears, painting a smile on her face. She _is_ strong, and for the first time in her life she's not going to let anything hold her back. The world is hers, and she's going to take it with her bare, bloody hands.

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**Don't forget to review, and I hope to see you all soon.**


	10. Fury

**Ah, man. You guys are wonderful. But I feel just the tiniest bit bad because by the end of this you may well wish they had just killed Scott last chapter. You've been warned. On another note, keep up the amazing reviews, because... *drum roll*... once I finish publishing this (and there's still plenty of chapters to go, remember) I'm going to be publishing a new story. It's called 'fugue' and is an angsty Stydia post-S3 fic based on a prompt from the lovely LoginOrSignUp. I'm having a lot of fun writing it, and I think you guys might like it. I mean, as much as anyone can like my stories, given how dark and depressing they are. Anyway. Enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review.**

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_**Then.**_

The strange this is, as soon as Stiles – the real Stiles – is granted control over his body again, he feels like he's losing his mind. Maybe that's the way this works – there always has to be a balance, so he can have his mind or his body but not both. Then again, there are times when he feels like the nogitsune has taken control of both. He's not sure how long he's been trapped up there this time, but it feels like a long time. Every _second_ feels like a long time when you're trapped inside your own head and forced to watch as an evil fox spirit flits all over town creating chaos.

"You're going to love this," the nogitsune says from somewhere deep in Stiles' mind. Deep, but not hidden, and ready to take control at the slightest hint that Stiles is going to go against him.

Stiles knows better than that, of course. There's no fighting the nogitsune, and even with Scott leading the pack, there might be no defeating it as well. This thing is strong, cunning, ruthless – all the things Stiles isn't, all the things he would never want to be. He's at the school now, leaning against a tree on the far side of the parking lot, watching, waiting.

"What exactly am I waiting for?" he asks – not out loud, because the nogitsune, as always, knows his every thought, sometimes before he's even thought them himself.

"You'll see." The nogitsune gives him a nudge, prompting him forward, and Stiles follows. He's about to ask where he's meant to be going when he sees the only thing he could have possibly come back for – Lydia.

She's walking around to the gym, along with Carl, a guy in their year. Stiles feels a pang of jealousy, but that's quickly overtaken by worry. The nogitsune wouldn't have let him come just to see Lydia make out with some guy; the demon wouldn't have let him take control to watch anything less than a disaster. Stiles grits his teeth, finds a relatively hidden spot, and watches.

Lydia and Carl have a quiet conversation, and she looks increasingly uneasy. Everything in Stiles' body is screaming at him to go to her, to interrupt and chase Carl off and take Lydia in his arms. But there are so many reasons that would never work, and not all of them are to do with the nogitsune. There's something lingering in the back of Stiles' mind, not the nogitsune but something else. It's a faint buzzing, like fluorescent lights – like the lights in the mind-room he's kept in when he's not given free rein like this. A reminder that even though he's in control, this body isn't his anymore. His mind probably isn't either.

He's beginning to understand how Lydia feels. No wonder she's so highly strung, when she's always hearing whispers and screams and other things she can't block out. He glances down and realizes he's fidgeting more than usual, his hands twisting over and over until he's actually worried one of his bones will snap. He pauses for a second, then lets the anxiety take over and keeps fiddling. It's not like he'd feel it anyway.

A noise from up ahead makes him look up sharply, and when he sees what's happening he starts to call out. Then his mouth clamps shut and he knows he wasn't the one who did it – the nogitsune didn't want him making his presence known. Making an effort to be still, Stiles takes control back and keeps watching. Carl is holding Lydia against the wall, and a rush of anger fills Stiles, magnified because he knows he's helpless. The nogitsune didn't bring him here to help; it brought him here to observe.

It brought him here so that he would know exactly what he'd done.

Before Stiles can quite make sense of it, Carl is on the ground and Lydia is on top of him. He looks terrified, but her face is curiously neutral, even a little bit cold. Stiles wonders if she knows what she's doing, or if the nogitsune's magic has taken over her completely. Silently, Stiles watches as Lydia pulls a knife from out of Carl's boot – he recalls that the other boy had been suspended for something similar once – and, with only the minutest hesitation, stabs him with it.

This time Stiles' cry is involuntary, and too quick for the nogitsune to muffle it. Stiles feels something inside him snap and then he's back in that room with the concrete walls and metal floors. He watches as the nogitsune steers his body away from the school, before anyone can catch him. When they're a safe distance away the nogitsune comes to a stop, finding a secluded park and leaning back on the bench. Then he joins Stiles in the mind-room.

"Well," the nogitsune says, "wasn't that fun?"

Stiles is still shaking, still fiddling, still trying to come to terms with the whirlwind of chaos and pain that's become his life. Lydia _killed_ someone. _Lydia_ killed someone. Even though he knows that he's done far worse when controlled by the nogitsune, the thought still makes him balk. Lydia had always been on the fringes of the supernatural, almost brushing up against it, but she had stayed out of it for as long as the others could keep her away. But then she became a banshee, and she played her part, albeit unwillingly – finding the bodies, warning of impending deaths. But she's still meant to be outside that, away from the battlefield. She's meant to be finding the dead bodies, not causing them.

"I'm really looking forward to this," the nogitsune goes on casually. "I'm glad you suggested that we get her involved."

Stiles slumps to the ground, refusing to look at the demon. "This isn't what I meant."

"No?" The nogitsune feigns curiosity. "What did you mean then? Did you expect me to let her be on her merry little way while you and I paint the town red? You know it doesn't work like that, Stiles. She's either with us or against us, and this way… she gets to live."

"Stop." Stiles' eyes dart up to the demon's face and then away again. He clenches his fist to stop it from shaking. "Stop talking about _us_. There _is_ no _us_. I'm not like you, and if I had the choice I would never help you. There's only _you_, and you're not going to win."

"Are you really so sure about that?" The nogitsune raises his eyebrows, and then shakes his head sadly. "You didn't really… Oh. Oh, dear."

He breaks off, and Stiles can feel it slipping inside his mind, browsing through his thoughts, selecting the very ones he'd been so desperate to hide.

"You thought you could save him," the nogitsune says pityingly. "You thought you could make a deal with me to protect Lydia, and then you'd still have time to warn Scott."

Stiles grits his teeth. It was a stupid plan, but he hadn't known what else to do. Lydia was the most vulnerable pack member, both because she doesn't have any special skills or training and because of how Stiles feels about her. The nogitsune had known from the start that the way to silence Stiles, to force him to give up completely, had been to threaten Lydia. But he had hoped, foolishly, that he would be able to warn Scott in time for him to rally the pack and defeat the nogitsune.

So much for that idea. Stiles wraps his arms around his knees, breathes deeply, and tries to remind himself that all isn't lost. Scott's still out there, Lydia's still alive, and the rest of the pack is surely still looking for him. That means there's hope – a chance, however slim, that they might find him.

"They're not going to find you," the nogitsune warns. "I won't let them. You know that, don't you?"

Stiles does know, but he won't let himself believe it. If he does, hope will be gone, and that will be the end of it. Hope can keep him alive indefinitely, even though every day that goes without rescue makes him feel a little more dead. As long as the pack is out there, then there's hope, and that has to be enough. He doesn't look at or respond to the nogitsune.

"That Lydia," the nogitsune goes on, causing Stiles to stiffen, "she's really something, isn't she? The way she just plunged that knife into him. He never saw it coming. She'll be doing a lot more of that in time."

This time Stiles does look at him. "What do you mean?" He tries to sound threatening but his voice is more of a whimper, and he hates himself for it.

"I mean," the nogitsune says with exaggerated slowness, "that this was only the beginning. It won't take long for her to come over to our side. Fully, unreservedly. She'll be mine, Stiles – entirely."

Stiles isn't aware of standing up until he's in front of the nogitsune, his hands reaching for the monster's face. Rage courses through his veins, tinged with a desperate desire to save his friends. He won't be the reason for their fall, won't be responsible for their undoing. He's going to fight to the end.

But the nogitsune just laughs, and suddenly – without having actually moved – Stiles finds himself on the ground again, in that same corner. Walls on either side, the demon in front. Fluorescent lights tingling overhead. Hope leaching away.

"Isn't this what you wanted, Stiles?" the nogitsune asks. "You begged me to keep her safe. _Don't hurt her_. _Please don't touch her_. I kept my word, didn't I? She's not hurt. In fact, she almost seemed to _enjoy_ that, didn't she?"

"No," Stiles grits out. Infected or not, she's still Lydia, and she would never want to hurt anyone. He feels sick at the thought that he was indirectly responsible for infecting her, for causing her to kill someone.

"She's safe, like I promised," the nogitsune says. "And you let me take control, like you promised. So what's the problem?"

"The problem," Stiles says, each word falling from his tongue like acid, "is that you're running around Beacon Hills infecting people and killing people and doing god knows what else."

The nogitsune smiles, a slow, cold smile. "And why is that a problem?"

Stiles shakes his head and turns away, deciding it's easier not to try to explain morality to a century-old Japanese trickster spirit.

"You'll come around," the nogitsune says, "and so will she. And isn't it better for her to be on our side, safe, than allying herself with a pack of – what is the pack made of, anyway? Call me old-fashioned, but I'd always assumed that werewolf packs were supposed to have actual werewolves in them, rather than hunters, banshees, humans…"

He trails off, accompanying the last word with a pointed look at Stiles, who shrinks back under his gaze. Their pack is definitely unorthodox, but that's what makes it _theirs_. And he may be human, but he knows he's just as much a part of the pack as the werewolves are – which is he why also knows that they won't stop looking until they find him. He just can't shake the feeling that if they keep looking, what they find is going to get them killed. Or rather, what finds _them_.

"Oh well," the nogitsune says with a shrug. "It doesn't really matter what they are. What matters is what we're going to do to them, once we get Lydia on our side."

Stiles knows better than to ask, but somehow he can't stop himself. His voice shakes, but the words come out clear. "What are you going to do to them?"

The nogitsune inclines his head toward him, like he's pleased that he'd asked. Then he fixes his gaze on the far wall – on something outside the far wall, something Stiles can't see – and says, in a voice that chills Stiles to the core, "We're going to kill them, Stiles. We're going to kill all of them."

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**Let me know your thoughts in the reviews, and I'll see you all next time!**


	11. Magic bullet

**Shoutout this chapter to Swiftiesbeliebe. Welcome to the story and thank you for all your reviews! And thank you to all my regulars, much love to you all. Okay. Not much to warn you about this chapter, really. Dark as always, etc. On another note, as I mentioned in 'prediction', I'm looking for someone to beta read a Teen Wolf/Supernatural crossover two-shot, so if you're interested let me know. And if you want to take on a bigger challenge, then I'm still working on a multi-chapter Teen Wolf fic which will need a beta at some point. Other than that, not much to say. Enjoy this chapter, which is full of foreshadowing and explanations and Team 'Human' just generally being awesome. Don't forget to review, and I'll see you all next time.**

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_**Now.**_

"… which will mean the pack is gone, and we can walk around town without being worried we'll trip over a couple of nuisance wolf pups," Stiles finishes.

Lydia is sitting beside him on the couch, their shoulders touching, their hearts in sync – she knows this because in the absence of the whispers she used to hear, she's become much more aware of her environment. It's not so much heightened senses as a heightened ability to pay attention to them. She wonders if this is what it's like to be a werewolf, this _connection_ to everything around her, this total understanding of where she is and what's around her.

"What about Kira?" Allison asks from her place on the armchair opposite them. While Stiles and Lydia are leaning back, Allison is perched on the arm of the chair, alert and ready to jump into action. She's still fiddling with the daggers, and Lydia can tell from the look in Stiles' eyes that it annoys him, but he doesn't say anything. It's strange that not-Stiles is so agitated by fiddling, whereas the real Stiles is always the one doing it. "She's not part of the pack yet, but she's definitely their ally. She could be dangerous."

Stiles tilts his head, watching Allison. His eyes drift from the daggers and up to her face, then back down again. She notices his gaze and steadies her hands, setting the daggers down on the chair. "She's not a threat," Stiles says. "Not yet, at least. She doesn't understand her powers well enough yet, and without Scott or the others, she won't become involved."

Allison dips her head, silently acknowledging Stiles' authority. Lydia watches curiously, still getting used to the idea of Allison, the fierce hunter who never waits for anyone, taking orders from a nogitsune. She wonders what Allison's father would think. "So what do we do in the meantime?" she asks.

Stiles gives Lydia a look out of the corner of his eyes, the kind that makes her heart flutter. Even though she knows it's not the real Stiles looking back at her, it feels like it is. And now that they have Allison on their side, there's nothing stopping her from giving herself over entirely to the nogitsune. He's the real power in town, and he's the best person to ally herself with. She wonders if she would have joined him if he'd chosen another host, but she doesn't let herself dwell on the issue for too long. It doesn't matter.

"What do you want to do?" Lydia asks, still surveying the hunter. The fly had worked, that much is clear, but Lydia is still half-expecting Allison to fight it, waiting for the real Allison - her essence, all the good intentions they'd trapped beneath layers of nogitsune magic – to fight her way back and take control. But Allison looks back at them serenely, no sign of internal struggle. Lydia's almost disappointed – where is Allison's fighting spirit? Her hunter code? Everything that makes Allison _her_? But she reminds herself that it's easier this way, and she lets the matter drop.

"You could pay a visit to your friend Isaac," Stiles suggests. "He's not my main concern, so I'm happy for you to… take care of him."

Allison's eyes light up. "You mean I could…?"

Stiles lifts one shoulder up in a shrug. "Torture him, screw him, kill him. Whatever you want."

Lydia looks away, suddenly unnerved by his words. She hadn't hesitated when they'd used magic on Isaac, or when they'd sent him after Allison. So why is she having doubts now? Isaac may not be a major threat to them, but he's still a member of the pack. He's still the enemy. Why should she care what happens to him?

"Tempting," Allison says, seriously considering it. Then she sighs, running a hand along a crease in her jeans. "But too easy. He's already down, so…"

"You'd miss out on the thrill of the chase," Lydia finishes, and Allison nods.

"You could pay another visit to Scott," Stiles says. Lydia glances at him, catching on. He's trying to get rid of Allison, but Lydia doesn't know why. She opens her mouth to ask, but he shakes his head slightly. She closes her mouth and lets the others talk. "I'm sure he'd like the company."

Allison's smile is back, darker than it was before the nogitsune's magic had hit her. Lydia wonders briefly if Allison's smile will ever be bright again, but then she realizes she doesn't care. Allison is safe, and that's all that matters. "Now that sounds like fun," she says. Then she narrows her eyes slightly, thinking. "He seems kind of… out of it. How did you guys get him here?"

"Lydia," Stiles says, squeezing her hand, "took him out with a baseball bat."

Allison turns to her friend, surprise and disbelief splashed across her face. "_You_ took out an alpha with a baseball bat?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Lydia says with good humor. "I'm not as helpless as I seem."

"I never said you were helpless," Allison says, "I just didn't know you were so dangerous."

"You'd be surprised," Stiles says, and Lydia ducks her head in mock humility. She finds herself remembering what Scott had done for her when she'd been infected, and she feels something – not quite guilt, but an awareness that that's what she should be feeling. She examines the feeling for a moment and then lets it pass.

"How hard did you hit him?" Allison asks with a laugh. "He seems really weak."

"Ah." Stiles leans forward, amusement glittering in his eyes. "Now that was easy. Just lace the ventilation system with a little bit of wolfsbane, and you've got yourself a homemade werewolf prison."

Allison raises her eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Simple but effective," she says appreciatively. "My dad would find that really useful." A few beats of silence pass as the reminder sinks in – Allison is now, by default, her father's enemy. She shakes it off, clears her throat, and changes the subject. "I really think we should keep an eye on Kira. She may not look like much, but she has the potential to be pretty lethal."

Lydia expects Stiles to argue, but he doesn't. Instead he says, "If that's what you want to do, then go ahead. Tail her for a bit, find out her strengths and weaknesses. Come back when you're finished; we'll be here all night."

Allison nods, gathers her daggers, and gets to her feet. She takes a few steps toward the door before she turns back, meets Lydia's eyes, and says, "Thank you."

Lydia blinks, not sure what she's being thanked for. Then she realizes – Allison is thanking them for turning her. She must be aware that they could have just killed her, and is grateful they didn't. "You're welcome," Lydia says, and that's the last time they mention it.

When Lydia hears the front door swing closed, she turns to Stiles. "Why were you so desperate to get rid of her?"

Stiles doesn't try to deny it, nor does he seem taken aback by Lydia's direct manner. He pulls her to her feet and leads her to one of the spare rooms, one she's never been in before. It's empty aside from a round table covered in books, one of which is open to a page with intricate pictures of shadowy shapes and terrifying demons. She draws closer to Stiles, forgetting for a moment that he _is_ one of these demons.

He points to a page in the book, and she realizes it's one about the nogitsune. She takes a step back, surprised. In all the time she's been with him, he's made a deliberate effort not to remind her of what he is. But here he is, his image – the real him, the nogitsune in its purest form – spread across the page, accompanied by information the likes of which she knows the pack would do anything to get. Strengths, weaknesses, origin… how to kill them.

"What about it?" she asks, her fingers brushing the image, one of a dark shape that makes her shiver.

"What we did to Allison is only a temporary solution," he says. "The magic will only last for a certain period of time, and then…"

"And then what?" Lydia sits down on a chair near the table, one hand still on the book and the other resting on her knee. It's been a long time since she's felt this anxious, even though she doesn't know why.

"My magic is rather unstable," Stiles says cautiously, taking up the seat beside her. He clasps his hand over hers on top of the book and keeps talking. "It's meant to be used in short bursts, not for prolonged periods. If it stays in Allison's system for too long, it could kill her."

Lydia bites her lip, conflicted once again. "But if we take it out of her…"

"She'll go back to the pack," Stiles says. "And we can't have that happen, because she knows too much – she knows where we are, what we did to Isaac and Scott, and what we're going to do next."

"So we'd have to kill her," Lydia says uneasily as the pieces fall into place.

"Exactly." Stiles' voice is gentle, and Lydia is reminded of all the times the real Stiles had comforted her, had made her feel beautiful. These days she doesn't feel beautiful so much as powerful, and she thinks it's a fair compromise. "I don't want to have to kill her, or let my magic kill her. Which means we need a way to make sure she stays on our side."

Lydia's gaze slides to the book beneath their hands. She skims over it, and then she sees what she's looking for. "You want to let a nogitsune take over her?" she asks.

"It might be the best way to make sure she stays with us," Stiles says, still in that gentle, calming tone of voice. "With a nogitsune in her, she wouldn't be able to fight, even if she wanted to."

Lydia swallows, trying to sort out how she feels about this plan. It seems so sudden, so _final_. Allison is on their side now, but she hasn't done anything exactly _evil_ yet. If she was possessed by a nogitsune, that wouldn't last long. She wouldn't be able to go back; she would be with them forever. Slowly, Lydia nods. "If that's the only way to keep her safe, then let's do it."

Stiles quickly covers his shock with a silky smile. "Good. We'll let the fly run its course, and then before it starts to kill her, we get it out – and put a nogitsune in its place."

"Does it…" Lydia hesitates and then tries again. "Will it hurt?"

"The possession? No. It's quick and painless, and she'll feel a lot better afterward."

Lydia doesn't quite believe this, but even as she thinks it, her doubts melt away. This is the way it has to be. Stiles keeps smiling at her, encouraging, and it makes her feel more calm than she can remember ever feeling with the pack. Somehow she knows that everything is going to work out in the end. "Okay," she says, knowing that with that one word, she's decided her best friend's fate.

Stiles' smile widens, and then it slips. "There was one other thing…"

"What?"

He takes her hand in both of his, and she turns to face him, searching his face for an explanation for his sudden shift in mood. "I think it would be a good idea if you did it too," he says.

She stiffens. "You mean, take in a nogitsune?"

"It's not as terrifying as it sounds," Stiles says quickly. "You would still be you, just a lot more powerful."

There's a flaw in this logic, but Lydia can't find what it is. She wants to pull back, to go find Allison and just talk to her best friend, but it's far too late for that. Stiles' grip on her hands tightens, and once again her reservations fade. The idea of power is tantalizing, and if the nogitsune is the way to get it, then who is she to say no?

"I'll do it," she says, not giving herself time to back out.

Stiles pulls her to her feet and sweeps her up in a hug. "This is going to be great," he says. "Beacon Hills will never know what hit it."

Lydia smiles against his shoulder, wondering how she could ever have doubted him. Everything is going to work out; she doesn't just know it, she can _feel_ it. As long as she's with him, she'll be okay.

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**Yep. I can confirm that up until this point Lydia has not, in fact, been possessed. So what do you think? Will they manage to get to Allison? Will Lydia end up possessed?  
**

**Also, on a different note, do you guys like my ANs being interactive or am I wasting my time? Because I have a guessing game I want to introduce next chapter, but only if people are interested.**

**Anyway. Next chapter is a flashback, as usual, and it deals with one of my favorite friendship dynamics on the show (any guesses?). Hope to see you all there!**


	12. The tell

**Hi guys, and thanks as always for the reviews. There are a couple things I want to talk about in this AN, so here goes.**

**First, just a reminder that I am not guaranteeing a happy ending. I am, however, guaranteeing that there will be at least one character death during this story. So be prepared for that. And also, before that things will get very dark. I'm not trying to scare y'all off, I just want you to be ready.**

**Second, later on in this story one of my favorite (almost canon) couples will make an appearance. You all get one guess, and if you can correctly guess which couple this is, I'll give you a reward consisting of... well, you'll see.**

**Okay. I think that's it. Read, enjoy, review, and I'll update soon. For now I'm going to go write an angsty post-3B one-shot about Stiles, Lydia, and Scott, which I hope to have up in the next couple days. Annnd, tomorrow I should have the last chapter of 'prediction' up, so stay tuned.**

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_**Then.**_

At the top of the list of people Scott would expect to find knocking at his door are his mother and Isaac. At the bottom is Lydia Martin, especially when she has a smear of blood on her cheek and a wild look in her eyes. He stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of her and completely forgetting to invite her in. It isn't until she shifts her weight from one foot to the other and wraps her arms around herself that he comes to his senses.

"C-come in," he says quickly stepping back to let her enter his room. He glances into the hall behind her, half-expecting the rest of the pack to follow, but it's just her. When he turns back to his room, letting the door swing closed behind him, Lydia is perched on the end of his bed, her arms folded and her eyes darting all over the place.

"Are you okay?" he asks, tentatively sitting beside her. Lydia's flighty, and he doesn't want to scare her off, especially since she seems so shaken up. He gives her a quick visual onceover, and realizes that she's not physically hurt. The blood on her cheek isn't hers, but that's not as comforting as it should be – and it raises a lot of questions he's not sure he can even ask, let alone hear the answer to. "Did Stiles – I mean, did the nogitsune -"

"No," she says quickly, her hair falling into her eyes as she shakes her head. She brushes it away and then looks up at Scott. "No," she says more calmly, "the nogitsune didn't find me."

"Then what happened?" Scott starts making a mental list of people he should call – Allison and Stiles for a start, he thinks, until he remembers about the nogitsune – because something tells him that he's not equipped to deal with this alone.

"I think I…" Lydia's words trail off, and Scott rests a hand on her knee. He feels a jolt of pain from her, but she quickly jerks away from him. "I'm sorry," she says, looking at his hand where it's now resting limply on the bed. "I'm just…"

Scott watches silently as Lydia gets to her feet and starts pacing around his room. He can't remember ever seeing her this agitated, and he still doesn't know why she's here or why there's blood on her face. But he senses that he won't get any information out of her if he pushes, so he just waits for her to open up.

After a couple of laps of the room she sits back down, farther away this time, both her breathing and heartbeat more rapid.

"Lydia," he says gently, waiting until his eyes flick up to him. "What happened? Whose blood is that?"

Her mouth forms the word _blood_, a question, but no sound comes out. Then she lifts a hand to her cheek and when she pulls it away her eyes widen at the thin stripe of red that lines her palm. She quickly wipes that off on her skirt, and Scott, halfway through asking if she's hurt, thinks better of it.

"Wait here," he says, and then disappears downstairs. His mother is in the kitchen, and she looks up from the salad she's making when he enters.

"Is Lydia okay?" she asks, frowning. "She looked a little shaken up. And… I hate to ask this, but was that _blood_ on her cheek?"

"Yeah," Scott says distractedly, grabbing a cloth and running it under the tap. "I don't know what happened, but she's okay."

Mrs McCall's frown deepens and she puts the tomato back on the chopping board, watching her son. "Is this something… supernatural?"

"I don't know." Scott fills a glass with water, slings the cloth over his wrist, and heads for the door. Normally he would stay and talk to his mom, but he doesn't want to leave Lydia alone for too long – at least not until he knows what happened to her.

His mother doesn't call him back, so he hurries up the stairs and back into his room. Lydia hasn't moved, but it looks like she'd been crying – some of the blood has washed away, and her eyes are rimmed with red. She looks up when he approaches, startled, but quickly relaxes when she sees it's just him. He wonders who else she was expecting, but he doesn't ask.

"Here," he says, crouching down in front of her. He gently dabs the cloth against her cheek, and although she winces when he does, she doesn't move away. When all the blood is gone he takes the cloth into the bathroom and rinses it out, and then comes back. Lydia is sipping the water, her hands shaking.

She finishes it and hands the glass back to him, and as she does he notices that she's talking. It's so low that he wouldn't be able to hear it without his wolf hearing, but he does hear it. She's saying _No, I can't_, over and over. Somehow that's more alarming than the fact that she'd shown up unannounced on his doorstep with blood on her face.

"Lydia," he says, hoping the sound of her name will ground her, "I can't help if I don't know what's going on. So can you tell me what happened?"

"Y-yeah," she says softly. "I think I… I…"

Her words give out again and Scott is tempted to wrap her in a hug, but he's not sure how she'd react to that. "Do you want me to call someone?" he asks instead. "Your mom, or Allison -"

Lydia pales. "No," she says quickly. "Don't call them, I just need…"

"You just need what?" Scott prompts when she doesn't continue.

"I need my alpha," she says in a voice so quiet it's almost a whisper.

The words cause Scott to do a double-take. He's aware that he's an alpha now, that he's a _true_ alpha, and that his friends are his pack – he's just not used to people saying it. And Lydia's words aren't just a declaration, or even a cry for help. They're a reminder that as alpha, it's his job to take care of everyone. Lydia's vulnerable, she needs him, and she's trusting him to help. He can't let her down. "I'm here," he says, reaching for her hand again. "And I can help. Just tell me how."

She bites her lip and averts her gaze. "You're going to hate me when I tell you."

"I won't," Scott assures her quickly, although he's feeling more anxious with every second that slips by. He can't remember the last time Lydia had seemed so dejected – or the last time she'd come to him for help. "You can tell me anything."

She hesitates, using her free hand to fiddle with the pendant on her necklace. Then she says the last thing Scott had ever expected her to say. "I think I killed someone."

Scott takes a deep breath, making an effort not to betray his alarm. She's not joking, and he knows that right away. But she could be mistaken, or lying, or –

– or she could be telling the truth. And he knows instinctively that she is.

"Why do you think that?" he manages to ask.

Still not looking at him, Lydia says, "You know that guy, Carl, who's in our grade?"

"Yeah," Scott says, conjuring up an image of the guy, even though they've never spoken before. In all honesty Scott has hardly even noticed him before. "What about him?"

"He wanted to talk to me after school," Lydia says hesitantly. "So I followed him up near the gym, and then…"

Her heartbeat is so fast it pounds against Scott's skull and he has to work hard to shut it out. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," she says, almost regretfully. "I don't even really remember it, but one minute we were talking, and the next…"

Scott watches in horror as she reaches into her purse and pulls out a bloodstained knife. She rests it on her palm and she stares at it, transfixed. Scott fights against the rising panic, knowing that he is definitely in no way equipped for this. Kanimas, druids, werewolves – he can deal with all of that. But_ murder_? This is definitely out of his league. But Lydia is counting on him.

"You…you stabbed him?" he asks, trying to process this information. He can't picture Lydia – with her perfectly manicured nails and her designer handbags and her gentle smile – deliberately hurting anyone, especially someone who hadn't hurt her first.

"Yeah," she says, tucking the knife back into her bag. But she keeps looking at the bag, like she's expecting the knife to move by itself and creep out from inside. With an obvious effort she shifts her gaze up to Scott's face. "I think I'm in trouble, Scott."

"It's okay," he says, although he's trying to figure out how anything is ever going to be remotely okay again. Stiles is possessed by a nogitsune, Lydia has confessed to murder – it's like his pack is being knocked down one by one, and it's only a matter of time before it's his turn. "We can sort this out, okay?"

She nods, but he can tell she doesn't believe it. "I'll be right back," she says, getting to her feet. "I need to go clean up."

Scott nods, leaning back and watching as she leaves the room. His first instinct is to call the Sheriff – this isn't a supernatural issue, as far as he can tell, which means that the police will have to get involved. But the Sheriff is still trying to find Stiles, and Scott doesn't want to worry him any more than he has to. He remembers that awful conversation they'd had, when Scott had been forced to tell him that his own son had been taken over by a dark spirit, and he's not keen to repeat the experience.

He could talk to his own mother, of course, but he doesn't want to put her in a position like that. It had almost been simpler back when the parents were out of the picture, when they didn't have a clue about the supernatural. It was easier to keep them out of it, at least, because now he's never sure how much to tell his mother. She knows that Stiles is possessed, and that he's missing, but he hasn't told her the real kicker – that all of his research indicates that in order to kill the nogitsune, they're going to have to kill Stiles too.

When Lydia comes back, Scott is no closer to a solution. It feels like everything is falling down around him, and he's the one who has to pick up the pieces – when really he would rather just stop everything from breaking in the first place. "Are you feeling any better?" he asks as Lydia sits down again – at the desk chair this time, not the bed.

While she searches for an answer, Scott searches her face. She'd washed the blood off and tied her hair up, and she looks a lot more composed. Her hands aren't shaking anymore, and she meets his gaze. As she does, he finds himself shrinking back. There's something strange about the way she's looking at him – cold, calculating. Nothing like the panicked girl who'd shown up at his door ten minutes ago.

"I'm okay," she says at last. "I just can't believe that happened. I _killed_ someone, Scott."

"But you don't really remember doing it," he reminds her, searching for anything to make this situation even slightly better. "Maybe something made you do it -"

"No," Lydia says firmly. "It was me, Scott. I killed him. And I feel… I feel horrible. Like the weight of what I've done is actually going to suffocate me."

Her heartbeat shifts as she says that, but Scott can't quite figure out what it is. Instead he switches into business mode, knowing they need to sort this out as soon as possible.

"Let's just go have a look," he says reasonably. "You can take me to… where it happened, and we can go from there. Okay?"

She nods, shakily, but there's still something in her eyes, something that's the exact opposite of how she looked when she'd shown up at his house. It's not until they're halfway to the car that he realizes what had been worrying him. When Lydia had said that she felt horrible about it, her heartbeat had spiked.

She was lying.

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**Thoughts, theories, comments, questions? Let me know in the reviews.**


	13. Formality

**Hey guys. Shoutouts to gossgal33, LoginOrSignUp, and Bri P for reviewing last chapter, and for taking part in the guessing game I mentioned. If anyone else wants to guess, go ahead, and if you're right I'll PM you with a reward. Before this chapter, I have a couple of announcements. Later this week I'm going to start publishing 'fugue' (I know, I know, I said I'd wait, but I'm an impatient little Hufflepuff sometimes), which is a multi-chapter angsty Stydia story - more information on my profile if you're interested. I'm really excited to share it with you all. I've also been working on some one- and two-shots, which I'll be releasing on a whim over the next couple of weeks; none of them will be happy, but you might like them anyway. For now, here's the next chapter of 'scarlet'. It should explain a couple things you guys have been wondering about, but will probably raise more questions. Anyway. Enough from me. Here you go.**

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_**Now.**_

The next afternoon, Allison is sitting at the top of the stairs to the basement, absently flicking through a book she'd found in the spare room. Stiles had invited her into the room earlier and told her she was free to browse through it and pick out anything she liked. He and Lydia are out of the house now – or the hideout, really – to follow up on a few things, and she's meant to be waiting for them to get back. She's not sure she's supposed to be in the basement, but something has drawn her here. Scott is in the far corner, refusing to look at her, and she knows it's because he sees her now for who she is – not the girl she used to be or the daughter her father had wanted her to be, but someone colder, wiser, more willing to do what's necessary to survive.

The book is about the supernatural, of course, and she's found herself particularly perusing the sections on werewolves. It's more about the history of werewolves in popular culture than about the actual process of hunting them, which explains why she's never seen something like this lying around the house. What good is anthropology or psychology when they could just go out with a gun and get the bad guys themselves?

Only, she realizes as she turns the page, she's the bad guy now. Her father hasn't noticed she's missing, and this is both amusing and depressing. She wonders what he'll do when he does find her. He knows a bit about what's going on, and that Stiles is possessed, but he had probably never even considered that his daughter would join forces with the nogitsune. In truth, she had never considered it either.

"Allison," Scott says suddenly, making her jump.

She curls her fingers around the edge of the book, looking down at the werewolf – someone she'd once loved, someone she'd aligned herself with and fought beside. All she feels now is a dim kind of curiosity. "What?" she asks, expressionless, emotionless.

"You can't let them do this to you," Scott says, but his voice is far from convincing. "Stiles and Lydia – they're doing this to you. But you can fight back."

Allison lets out a snort of laughter. Poor Scott, always thinking the best of people, always looking for the happy ending. He's not going to get one this time – she'll make sure of that. "You think I _want_ to fight this?" she asks, setting the book aside and resting her hands on her knees. "I feel powerful, Scott. I feel strong. I feel like I can take on the world and win. Do you know what that's like?"

He mumbles something too low for her to hear, but when she asks him to speak up, he repeats it. "I do know what that feels like."

This gets Allison's attention. "Oh really?" she says, looking at him more closely. He's refusing to look at her, but she can still catch a glimpse of the fire in his eyes, despite the trembling in his hands and the way he can barely hold his head up. "When have you felt like that?"

Now he does look up at her, and for a moment it feels like she can't breathe. "When I was with you," he says simply. "I felt invincible. Like with you by my side I could do anything."

This hadn't been the answer Allison had been expecting, and it takes a few moments to sort through it. Then she laughs again. "I was your anchor, wasn't I?" she asks, getting to her feet and starting down the stairs – maybe she has time to play after all. "Isn't it funny, the way things turn out? I used to be the one who helped you feel free, and now I'm the one keeping you trapped."

Scott looks at her again, his eyes dark, even though she's half-expecting them to turn alpha red at any moment. "I'm not the only one who's trapped," he says, which brings Allison to a complete stop.

She plays this over in her mind, realizing that Scott still thinks she doesn't want this. It hadn't been her decision to join Stiles and Lydia, of course, but she wouldn't take it back – would she? Allison takes another step forward, reaching the floor, and then she stops. Her head swirls and then clears, and she blinks a few times. Something feels like it's shifting inside her, moving aside to let a rush of feelings take over. For one glorious, horrifying moment, she is totally and utterly herself.

"Oh god," she murmurs, as the sight of Scott sinks in. He looks so weak, so hurt, so desperate – and she's part of the reason for it.

He stiffens as she approaches, but then he seems to sense something different in her. She crouches down in front of him and their eyes meet, and in that moment she can tell that he forgives her for everything she's done. But this isn't as comforting as it should be, because she knows that he has no idea what she's going to do – what, until moments before, she had _wanted_ to do.

"Allison?" he asks, just to make sure it's her.

"Scott," she says, and that's enough of a confirmation. She doesn't move again, scared that a single movement will upset the balance and send her spinning back into darkness. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay," he says, quick as always to forgive. He's leaning against the wall, his breathing labored and his face pale, but he manages to give her half a smile. Then his expression becomes serious again and he asks, "Are you okay?"

Allison almost laughs at the question. Scott is trapped in a basement and slowly being poisoned with wolfsbane by two of his closest friends, and he's asking her if she's all right? "I'm fine," she says quickly. "And I don't… I mean, it's not…"

"It's not you doing these things," he says, and somehow she's not surprised that he's known all along. Sometimes she swears he knows her better than she knows herself. "They tricked you, or forced you, or -"

"Infected me," she supplies, and Scott's eyes widen with the realization.

"They got you the same way they got Lydia," he says, and she nods. "I thought it only worked on supernatural beings."

"Normally it does," Allison says, sinking onto her knees and casting a nervous glance up at the door. She doesn't want Lydia and Stiles to show up, because they'd be able to tell right away that it was her, really her – and they'd probably kill her for it. "They found a loophole, and they used Isaac to…"

"Isaac," Scott echoes, alarm shooting through his voice like a siren. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Allison says honestly, feeling a pang of guilt at the memory of what she'd done to him – even before she was infected. "I haven't seen him since they… since I…" She cuts herself off, shakes her head, and moves on. "I'd know if they'd killed him, so he must be okay. Or at least alive."

Scott leans back slightly, but the news doesn't seem to cheer him much. His expression darkens as he contemplates something, and when he speaks again, his voice is low, like he doesn't want to believe what he's saying. "When Lydia attacked me," he says slowly, "she said that… she said she wasn't possessed. Is that true?"

Allison hesitates, but there's no point in lying. "It's true," she admits. "She's not possessed. But I think that Stiles – the nogitsune, I mean – is influencing her somehow. She seems more like herself when she's not with him. Almost like she'd be willing to go against him, if only we could -"

Her words break off as she becomes aware of a coldness creeping through her, and she knows what it means. The nogitsune is back. She shoots a panicked look at Scott and jumps to her feet, and that movement is what upsets the balance. She feels slightly dizzy from standing up so fast, but when that clears, she's not herself anymore. She's the new version of Allison Argent, the one who's aligned with the nogitsune – not the girl who'd just confessed all that to Scott. She turns to him, and he can tell that she's changed.

"Duty calls," she says cheerfully, heading back to the stairs. She picks up the book on the way, and at the door, she hears Scott's voice.

"You can fight this," he says again. "You may feel strong now, but it's just an illusion. Your strength is with the pack, and if you come back to us, we can win this."

She doesn't respond, just darts through the door and meets Lydia and Stiles in the hall. "Any problems?" she asks, trying to distract them from how agitated she is.

"None at all," Lydia says. Her gaze slides past Allison, toward the basement. "Are we all good here?"

"Nothing to report," Allison replies.

The looks Stiles gives her is searching, like he knows she's holding something back, but he doesn't mention it. "Are you ready for the next part of the plan?" he asks instead. "Mrs McCall is waiting."

"Ready," Allison confirms, although part of her isn't sure she is. Still, she goes along with it, and in a few minutes she's pulling up outside the McCalls' house. The others had assured her that Isaac is out of the picture – although what that means, she doesn't quite know – which means that she can carry out her part of the plan without interruption.

She gets to the doorstep and then stops, taking a few deep breaths and trying to play her part. When Mrs McCall answers the door, Allison is standing there, her shoulders shaking and tears welling in her eyes. For good measure there are splashes of blood across both her hands, and her breathing is coming in shallow sobs.

"Allison!" Mrs McCall exclaims, stepping back at once to let her in.

Focusing on keeping up her performance, Allison steps around her and heads inside. Mrs McCall ushers her into the kitchen and quickly sets her up with a cup of tea, which Allison sips as she makes a show of trying to get her breath back.

"Are you okay?" Mrs McCall asks, sitting down across from her. When Allison nods, the older woman says tentatively, "You haven't heard from Scott, have you? He didn't come home last night."

Allison stares into the liquid in her cup, counting to ten before she responds. "That's why I'm here," she says, doing her best to sound broken. That's not too hard – she just taps into the old Allison, the one who'd been close enough to people that it would hurt when she lost them.

Mrs McCall stiffens, but the sympathy doesn't fade from her eyes. "What do you mean? Did something happen?"

Allison finishes the tea and then pushes the cup away, her hands trembling and tears spilling onto her cheeks. Stiles and Lydia would be proud of her performance. "There was a fight," she says, still in the same shattered voice. "The werewolves were all there, and I tried to stop it, but…"

Silence hangs over them for a moment, and then Mrs McCall bites her lip and asks, "Is Scott okay?"

Allison shakes her head, slowly, and watches as Mrs McCall crumples before her. "I'm sorry," she says as Scott's mom dissolves before her eyes, every tightly controlled muscle relaxing, every semblance of dignity forgotten as she's overwhelmed by grief, pre-empting bad news. "I tried to get them out of there, but one of the wolves went rogue, and -"

"Rogue?" Mrs McCall repeats, latching onto the one word she understands so that she doesn't have to focus on the implications. "You mean one of Scott's pack?"

Allison dips her head and lowers her eyes, fixing them on the table in front of her. "They got into it, and we couldn't stop it. He… he killed Scott."

For a moment Allison thinks that Mrs McCall is going to let her grief take her over until she's nothing but an empty shell, but instead she goes in the other direction – not despair but a desire for revenge. "Who was it?" she asks, her voice hard.

Allison glances up at her, surprised by how quickly the other woman has gone from hearing her son is dead to wanting his murderer to pay. She couldn't have wished for a better reaction. "You have to promise me you won't go after him," Allison says, hoping for just the opposite. "If I tell you, you have to promise…"

"I'm not promising anything." Mrs McCall's voice is still hard, almost a growl, and Allison wonders what she'll do when she inevitably finds out that this isn't true – although by that stage Scott may well actually be dead. "My son is dead, and I want to know who killed him. I think, after all I've been through – and after all I've seen you guys go through – I deserve that much at least."

Allison meets Mrs McCall's eyes, silently seeming to agree with her logic. Then, feigning reluctance, she lets the lie slide from her tongue. "Isaac. Isaac killed Scott."

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**Sorry for the depressing chapter, and the Scallison feels, and... well, sorry for the entire story. See you all next chapter?**


	14. Lunatic

**So, is interest in this story dwindling or are you all just lurking? Regardless, thanks to my regulars for your continued support and much-appreciated reviews. I worked really hard on this story and it's nice to know it didn't go to waste. Anyway. Quick announcement: since this is pre-written, I've decided to implement an update schedule. Until further notice, I'll be updating this story on Mondays, 'fugue' on Tuesdays, and a surprise on Fridays (chapter of something else, one-shot, whatever I feel like). So I'm open to suggestions with that, since it might depend on demand/interest/my mood at the time. As always, leave me a review and I'll love you forever, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

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_**Then.**_

"Are you sure?" Scott asks for the third time.

Lydia spins in a wide circle, deliberately forcing herself to look confused. It's not surprising that the body is gone – she knows by now that she's infected, that the nogitsune got to her, and she's past the point of caring. She knows he would have cleaned up her mess in order to sow more discord in the pack. Not that they need it, of course. The nogitsune issue is already splitting them apart, and it hardly needs any more prompting. But that's the way the nogitsune works – he's all about the follow through.

"I'm sure," Lydia says, rocking back and forth on her heels as she looks at the place where Carl's body had been only an hour before. The incident itself is clear in her mind, but what followed is more hazy. She remembers stumbling backward, her hand tightening around the knife. She remembers looking at Carl – at the body – with mild, detached curiosity. She remembers Lydia, the old Lydia, fighting her way to the surface, but it had been no place for her.

After she'd made sure Carl was really dead, she'd left. She hadn't come across anyone, hadn't been forced to come up with any lies or excuses. She had simply slipped away, back to her car, feeling strangely calm – until she started driving. That was when everything had caught up with her, giving the old Lydia control again. She'd driven to Scott's house, to the one person who could help her, and she'd tried to tell him everything. The panic had been almost overwhelming, and coupled with the guilt it had almost been enough to crush her.

But when she washed the blood from her face and came back to Scott's room, she was herself again – the new version of herself, at least. The one who could stab a classmate and not bat an eye; the one who didn't hear voices in her head so much as gentle suggestions; the one who knew that everything was going to be okay.

Scott leans against the building, inhaling deeply. He frowns. "I can only smell a trace of blood," he says, looking at Lydia.

She's still holding the knife, she realizes, her hand wrapped around it in her pocket. She tries her best to stay still, not wanting to remind Scott of that fact. Of course there would be minimal evidence left behind, and definitely not enough for Scott to be able to track where the body had gone. She wonders briefly where it did go, and then realizes that she doesn't want to know. "I don't know what to tell you," she says, walking over to him, being sure to make her steps shaky and her voice equally unsteady. "He was here when I left. The body, I mean. And I…"

Scott looks up at her, sees her breaking in front of him, and softens immediately. Lydia is always amazed at the fine line between wolf and boy, a line which Scott is more and more easily able to cross. He's not the alpha in this moment – he's just her friend. Which is, incidentally, exactly what the old Lydia would need. But what this Lydia needs is to finish her job.

"It's okay," Scott says, coming back over to her. "We'll figure this out."

The smile he gives her is so reassuring that for a moment Lydia is dazzled, forgetting herself. She feels safe with him, but she knows she shouldn't. If he knew she was infected, he would do whatever he had to in order to save her – but the problem is that this isn't something to be saved from. This is something to live with, something to enjoy. This is something she can't – won't – let Scott take away from her.

He turns away, looking again at the crime scene, and Lydia pulls the knife out. Slowly, gently, so as not to startle him, she steps forward, both hands wrapped around the handle of the knife, the point facing Scott's back. She knows exactly where to hit for maximum efficiency, but she's torn between wanting to give him a quick death and wanting to inflict as much pain as possible. She makes a compromise, aims the knife –

- and drops it as someone calls out her name from behind her. She whirls around to see Allison approaching, her bow slung over one shoulder and a worried look on her face. Scott straightens up, glances at the knife on the ground, and then up at Lydia. She refuses to look at him, suddenly terrified she's going to give herself away.

"Hey," Allison says as she reaches them, shifting the bow higher up on her shoulder and letting her eyes sweep over the scene. In answer to Lydia's unspoken question she explains, "Scott called me. He said I might be able to help. So what's going on?"

The alpha and the banshee share a look. Before either of them can speak, Allison notices the knife. She bends down and picks it up, testing the point of the blade against the tip of her finger, tapping gently against the handle. She can tell that it's not one of hers, not a knife used for hunting or fighting.

"Where did this come from?" she asks, suspicion coloring her voice.

Scott takes the knife from her, and, after a brief hesitation, hands it back to Lydia. She takes it, realizing that he's just as lost as she is – and that part of him doesn't believe that she really did murder somebody. "There was an… incident," she says delicately when Scott doesn't make any move to speak. "I think I… I killed someone."

She tunes out Allison's exclamations of surprise and shock, doing her best to seem suitably shocked herself. She keeps up the act while Scott and Allison survey the scene and, coming up with nothing to prove that anyone was murdered here, let alone that Lydia did it, suggest that they call it a day. She quickly agrees, knowing there's nothing to be found here.

Lydia's hoping that Allison will leave so that she can get on with her job, but the other girl stays where she is, talking to Scott about a potential lead on the nogitsune. Finally they part, and then Scott invites them both over to dinner the next night. Without really understanding why, Lydia agrees to that as well. She knows why Scott is doing it – the pack's already a member down, and he wants to keep everyone else as close together as possible. She doesn't argue when Scott offers to drive her home, and even thanks him politely at the door. But as soon as she's alone, she starts thinking. Planning. The nogitsune is behind this; she knows that. But she's still a little unclear about her part in it all, about what he wants her to do. The only way to find out is to ask him, but she can't think of a way to find it.

By the time she's sat through dinner with her mother – acting like the old Lydia so she wouldn't arouse suspicion – she's so tired that she can't dedicate any time to sorting out this problem. Strangely, she's not bothered by this. She has the feeling that she has all the time in the world, which is such a change from the way she usually feels – like it's only a matter of time before the world falls down on them. It's quiet in her head, and even though she knows she's not herself, she feels like she is. She feels more like herself than she has in months.

The next day, she works on trying to get Scott alone. If she can take out the alpha, the rest of the pack will quickly follow. Allison is keeping an eye on her, and is either resistant or oblivious to the fact that Lydia is trying her best to lose her. Not that it matters anyway, because Scott is never alone – Isaac is usually with him, and when he's not, the twins take over. She even thinks she sees Derek lurking around the school property at lunch, although he doesn't approach them.

A couple of times, Allison and Scott try to talk to Lydia about what happened yesterday. She repeats her story: that something had come over her, that she'd killed Carl, that she's worried for her sanity. At the very least this new mystery will keep them busy enough for her to find a way to contact the nogitsune – or for him to contact her. Once or twice throughout the day she thinks she catches a glimpse of him, around the corner or across the lacrosse field, but she can't be sure.

After school, Allison insists on going shopping with her and then driving her to Scott's house. On the way to Scott's, with the backseat full of new dresses and jewelry, Lydia remembers the first time this new voice had come to her, the night it had told her to kill Allison. She realizes, idly, that this time she would probably comply. Whatever it is has completely taken over her, and she doesn't mind at all. It's quiet in her head and calm in her heart, and all it's taken is one measly murder. What's that in the grand scale of things?

When they arrive at Scott's, Mrs McCall lets them in, a warm smile on her face. Lydia greets her in the same manner, while in her mind she runs through the pros and cons of taking out the entire household in one go. It would be simple enough to slip something into the food, and it would essentially eliminate the pack. Mrs McCall is here, and Isaac and Scott, since they all live here; but Allison's here too, and Kira, and Lydia herself. Without all of them, the McCall pack would be no more.

But even as she thinks it, she rejects that idea. She knows instinctively that this isn't what the nogitsune wants – death isn't the same as chaos. So she takes her place at the table beside Allison and Scott, and she plays nice.

"So Lydia," Scott says, handing around a bowl of mashed potatoes, "my mom was telling me about this college program you might be interested in over the summer. What was it again?"

Mrs McCall looks slightly surprised at being addressed, but she quickly fills Lydia in on the summer program at one of the nearby colleges, one that specializes in gifted science students. Lydia nods, acting interested, but she knows she's not going to it. Conversation progresses, and the group talks about school, work, and everything in between. Lydia contributes little; instead she rests the knife on her lap, turning it over and sneaking peeks every now and then to see it catch the light. It's strangely comforting, and she keeps picturing using it against Scott. Getting the alpha out of the way – now _that_ would be chaos.

As dinner continues, Lydia notices that a lot of attention seems to be focused on her. She catches Allison and Scott looking at her more often than they even look at each other, and even Isaac and Kira keep darting glances her way. Every now and then they'll try to get her involved in the conversation, but she focuses on filling her eyes with as much desolation as she can, so that no one will push the issue. They'll all attribute it to worry over Stiles – who's still missing, and it seems the pack's search has started to slow down – and leave her alone.

After they've all finished dinner Mrs McCall hands out slices of chocolate cake – comfort food, since they're all feeling the absence of a certain whiskey-eyed boy. The cake tastes slightly sour, and Lydia can only take a couple of bites before she has to push it away. While the others are still eating, she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, needing a moment to compose herself – the old Lydia is threatening to fight her way back. But she never makes it that far.

Halfway down the hall she hears someone come up behind her, and before she even has time to turn around someone grabs her arm, twists it just enough to distract her, and then presses a damp cloth against her mouth. She breathes in the acrid smell for a few seconds, and that's all it takes. Then she slumps against the person's arms, and barely hears them murmur, "I'm sorry about this," before she slips away.

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**Go on, hit me with your theories. What just happened? What's going to happen next? I love hearing from you guys, and if I get an enthusiastic enough response to this chapter I could be persuaded to update again this week. So let me know if you're still out there, and I'll see y'all soon.**


	15. Pack mentality

**Happy Friday, all. I got a good response last chapter so I figured I may as well update this story again. Shoutouts to my regulars: LoginOrSignUp, Aaya123Woods, and gossgal33. You guys are amazing. And welcome new readers as well! Great to see CMR, a carryover from my PLL craze (thank your friend for getting you into TW, 'kay?). And hello to littlestrangesoul, another Stydia shipper whose work you should all definitely check out.  
**

**Now, to avoid any disappointment next chapter, I'm going to warn you all that things may not be what you're expecting. Re-read the last chapter, since there are a couple of very subtle hints you may have missed. Actually. Let's make this interesting. The other day I wrote a post-3B one-shot revolving around the Stiles/Lydia/Scott friendship. I was going to publish it next Friday, but if anyone can correctly guess what happened last chapter (or, similarly, what will happen next chapter), I'll publish it a lot sooner. So leave your guesses in the reviews, and I hope to see you soon.**

**Annnd, here's the next chapter, which will be a barrel of laughs, because I totally don't enjoy putting the characters through hell. Haha.**

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_**Now.**_

When Allison returns, Stiles and Lydia greet her at the door. Stiles watches her carefully, half-convinced that she will have betrayed them. He'd heard her earlier, in the basement with Scott, and it worries him that the old Allison might be trying to take control. He makes a note to keep a careful eye on her for the next day, and to watch for any indication that the old Allison might be about to win – and then it will be time to move on with the next stage of the plan. Lydia had been understandably reluctant when he'd brought up the idea of summoning more nogitsunes, but it hadn't taken too much magical manipulation to convince Lydia that it was in fact a good idea.

He's watching her now too, as she and Allison head toward the living room. Lydia is dressed in her usual ridiculous outfit – short dress, heeled boots, jewelry that seems to shine even in the dim light inside the hideout. But the colors are all more subdued than she would usually wear; there are no floral prints or cute animals or splashes of color. It's all black and white and gray, the way it should be. Allison looks much the same as well, dressed in simple jeans with a loose black shirt thrown over the top. This is no place for color, for cheerfulness, for anything that might remind the girls of the kind of life they always thought they were going to have.

While Allison and Lydia talk in the living room, Stiles retires to the kitchen. It only takes half a minute to settle down and slip back into the mind room. The real Stiles is there, still at the back of the room, but he's standing up, meeting his tormentor's eye.

"Let them go," the real Stiles says firmly. His voice is surprisingly steady given that his legs are shaking and he looks like he could collapse at any moment.

After a few beats have passed, n-Stiles steps forward. "Why would I want to do that?" he asks, watching as the first hints of defeat settle on Stiles: his shoulders start to slump, his knees sag, his eyes go dark. But he doesn't give up.

"I'm not letting you hurt any more of my friends," Stiles says, leaning against the wall for support.

"Bold declaration for somebody who's trapped in his own mind," n-Stiles says, amusement curling around his words.

The real Stiles balks. "I'm not trapped in my mind. I'm trapped in _yours_."

"Are you?" n-Stiles counters. "Did you ever wonder why I chose you, Stiles? Why, out of all of the people I could have possibly chosen to possess, it was you?"

The look on his face makes it clear that no, Stiles has not thought of this. And the way he grits his teeth and looks away makes it clear that he doesn't want to know.

"It's because you're weak," n-Stiles says. "You were the only one vulnerable enough for me to target. Your friends would have fought me off, but you, Stiles… you can't. You've never been strong, and you never will be."

He watches as the real Stiles lets the words wrap around his heart, pulling him to the floor, trapping him even deeper in his own mind. Stiles' resolve is fading, his hope disappearing like a leaf in the wind, until there's nothing left but a broken boy.

"What are you to the pack, anyway?" n-Stiles goes on, crossing the space between them so that he stands above the real Stiles. "You're not a werewolf. You're not a hunter. Nor a banshee, kitsune, or any other kind of supernatural being. What makes you think you would ever belong with them? You were never going to be able to keep up. You're only human, and that means you're weaker than they are. Nobody says it, but they all think it."

"That's not true," Stiles says, not looking up.

"No?" n-Stiles prompts. "You don't think Scott, the true alpha of Beacon Hills, resents having a human best friend? Someone he's obligated to protect, because he can't protect himself?"

"It's not like that," Stiles says, but it's a weak protest.

"And you don't think Allison believes she's better than you?" n-Stiles goes on. "It's her duty to protect the weak, which is the only reason she's 'friends' with you. She pities you, Stiles. She knows you wouldn't stand a chance on your own, and so she stays to protect you."

"She _is_ my friend," Stiles says, but the nogitsune can see him losing his spirit already. "I don't need protection. I'm part of the pack."

n-Stiles ignores this, waiting for the perfect time to throw one last barb at him. "And Lydia," he says slowly, savoring every moment, "do you really think she would ever fall for someone as plain and ordinary as you? You are _nothing_ to her, Stiles. You did everything you could to save her, and it still won't be enough."

"Get out," snaps the broken boy before him, and the nogitsune knows that he's won.

"Always a pleasure," he says mockingly, and then he retreats, leaving the shell of a boy behind. When he comes back into his body – he thinks of it as his body, even though he knows that technically that isn't quite true – he sees Allison and Lydia approaching. "Girls," he says graciously, getting to his feet. "How can I help?"

"I want to know what happened to Isaac," Allison announces.

This isn't surprising – in fact, Stiles is only surprised that it took her this long to ask. He's aware of the history between the pair, of the hate-turned-love relationship, and he had assumed it was only a matter of time before that part of the old Allison came creeping back. "Nothing happened to him," Stiles says. "We only needed him to get you on our side."

Allison narrows her eyes. "When I went to talk to Mrs McCall, he wasn't there."

"Oh." Stiles shrugs. "Well, we had to move him to a more… convenient location."

"Which is where?" she asks, folding her arms. He notices that she's not fiddling anymore – she's not carrying any daggers, any arrowheads. She seems calm, composed, almost like the old Allison – full of purpose and confidence.

"Lydia," Stiles says, turning to her. If he's not much mistaken, the redhead jumps slightly when he addresses her, but she hides it quickly behind a smile. "How about you take Allison out to where we left Isaac? If you're lucky he might be waking up around now."

Lydia nods, seeming pleased by the suggestion. "What will you be doing?"

"I think," Stiles says, with a smile that he shoots straight at both of them, "it might be time to pay a little visit to our favorite ex-alpha."

"Good luck," Allison says, and adds something that sounds like _you'll need it._

But Stiles isn't worried. If he can take down the alpha of Beacon Hills, he has nothing to fear from someone like Derek. "We'll meet back here when we're done," he says. "Once Derek and the twins are out of the way, we can focus on the rest of them."

Allison nods, reaching for the bow that's leaning against the wall. Lydia uses the intervening time to kiss Stiles, who doesn't object in the slightest; in fact he welcomes the affection, because he'd been worried that he was losing Lydia. She's stronger than he gave her credit for, and she's becoming resistant to his subtle magic. He might have to try something more direct, if she doesn't take in a nogitsune of her own soon. He hopes it won't come to that, because he quite likes this Lydia – she's quieter than she used to be, exuding confidence and intelligence like always, but there's also a fire that the old Lydia was missing. It looks, he muses as he watches the two girls depart, a little like hellfire.

Stiles knows that he should go straight to Derek after this, because the next part of their plan is to take him out, but he can't resist a trip down to the basement. Scott jerks his head up when he enters, and Stiles can see the panic and disappointment that flashes through the other boy's eyes when he sees that it isn't Allison.

"Hey, Scott," Stiles says amiably, wandering over to him.

The alpha stiffens and tries to back away, but he's already against the wall. The wolfsbane in the ventilation system is definitely taking effect, because Scott looks, for lack of a better word, terrible. He's pale, he's trembling, and Stiles doubts he could even change if he wanted to. He's not an expert on wolfsbane poisonings, but he thinks there might be a stage later on when Scott will have to change, and he won't be able to become human again. The lines between human and wolf are blurred anyway, so it's about time he erases them completely.

"You're not going to get away with this," Scott says, his voice almost like a growl.

Stiles surveys him, noting that Scott doesn't beg. The real Stiles does beg, but then again he's been with the nogitsune for a lot longer. Still, it had almost been too easy to wear him down. But Scott, now there's a challenge. Breaking an alpha would definitely be one for the books, but he's not sure he has the strength – yet.

"My pack," Scott says, choking out the words like they cause him physical pain, "my pack is going to find me."

"What pack?" Stiles asks with a hint of laughter. "Wake up, Scott. You don't _have_ a pack anymore. You lost Stiles long ago, and Allison and Lydia are with me. We took care of Isaac, and I'm about to go after Derek and the twins. Who's left?"

Scott opens his mouth to reply, then closes it again. He can tell when he's beaten.

"Precisely." Stiles crouches down in front of Scott, and he thinks he can feel a hint of the real Stiles in the back of his mind – begging, as always, for him to _please just leave the others alone. _It amuses him that Stiles still seems to think that's an option. "No one's coming for you, Scott. And you're in no state to fight your way out. Where does that leave you?"

Without waiting for a reply, Stiles stands up again and walks out of the room. As he starts up the stairs he thinks he can hear a faint whimper, like Scott has finally accepted the reality of his situation, but he doesn't turn back. He has a job to do. It doesn't take long to reach Derek's loft, and even less to infect him. Stiles doesn't even have to go inside; he just waits in the street, watching as the fly slips through a crack in the window. There's a howl from up above, and less than a minute later Derek comes charging down. Stiles watches him disappear round the corner before he starts driving again, this time toward the twins' house. He needs to give them a fighting chance, after all.

To his delight, the twins are both at home, even in the same room. He watches through the window, sees the exact moment they each get taken over, and with the same perfect timing that seems to have characterized his day, Derek shows up not long after. Stiles slips into the shadows to watch, as the twins tumble out the door and throw themselves at the former alpha, who shrugs one off and slams the other into the nearest tree. Stiles watches long enough to see both twins get to their feet and lunge at him again before he turns to go. The pack that Scott is so fiercely trying to defend is crumbling down around him, and soon there'll be nothing of it left.

And not long after that, there'll be nothing of the real Stiles left either.

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**Don't forget to review, and I'll see you next time! Next chapter you will definitely get some answers. Promise.**


	16. Shape shifted

**Let's get this out of the way first: I tried to hint it in my last AN, and to save any disappointment, I have to confirm that... this is not, in fact, a Stydia chapter. I apologize, and in all honesty I didn't even intend to mislead you; sometimes I just forget people aren't in my head, y'know? Anyway, this is actually one of my favorite chapters, so I hope you enjoy it too (and rest assured, there will be plenty of Stydia feels to come). Thank you as always for the reviews, and I hope this chapter answers a few of your questions. Here we go...**

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_**Then.**_

"Scott, I don't like this."

It's not the mention of his name that gets the young alpha's attention – it's the way Allison says it. The way her voice catches on the words, stumbles over them; the way that the hunter can't stop her voice from shaking. She's leaning against the wall, and she can feel her heart beating at least twice as fast as normal. Her gaze is fixed on Scott, who's on the other side of the room with Deaton.

"I don't like it either," Scott says, his voice firm but his eyes sympathetic, "but we have to do it."

"Remind me again why you think this -" Isaac says from his place near the counter, gesturing to the sight which they're all trying so desperately not to look at "- is a good idea?"

"I didn't say it was a good idea," Deaton qualifies, looking up from the jars of herbs he's sorting through. "I said it was the only thing I can think of."

The three of them keep talking like this for a few minutes, but Allison's attention drifts. She plays with an arrow, turning it over in her hands and watching the light glint off it, remembering how she feels when she's out there in the woods with nothing but her bow and arrows. Calm. Powerful. Tranquil. The exact opposite of what she's feeling now.

As if drawn by a magnet, her gaze slides sideways, landing on the chair in front of her. Lydia is slumped in it – tied to it – and Allison hates that it came to this. But there was no other choice. When they noticed that Lydia wasn't acting like herself, they'd talked to Deaton. He was the one who'd raised the possibility of her being, as he put it, 'magically affected'. It wasn't a possession, and he made that very clear. It was more like a lowering of inhibitions, a twisting of the moral compass until it pointed toward strife and pain. He explained that it was probably the nogitsune's doing, a way to infiltrate the pack – and that if they didn't do something soon, it could kill Lydia.

So they'd done something. Allison remembers going with Scott to fill his mom in on what was happening. Dinner with the pack, just a nice night with friends – or at least that's what they wanted Lydia to think. But the dessert had been laced with a subtle spell, a combination of herbs that would react with any nogitsune magic and make it uncomfortable for the person who was affected. They'd all watched carefully, waiting for a reaction. Allison had noticed Scott watching the others too, just in case there was someone or something they'd missed, but nobody else had trouble. But Lydia did.

It was just a moment, just a flash of something through her eyes, but it was enough. Scott later told Allison that he could sense Lydia's fear – the fear that she had been found out. So they'd followed her down the hall and done what they had to do.

And that's how Allison ended up at the animal clinic with a couple of werewolves, a druid, and with her best friend tied to a chair. It's been almost half an hour but Lydia hasn't woken up yet. She should be awake any time now; Allison would know – she's the one who'd drugged her. Before they can act they need to know for sure that Lydia's affected by the nogitsune's magic. If she's not, doing the spell could kill her. But if she is, not doing it will be just as fatal.

"Allison," Scott says, jerking her attention back to him. "Are you -"

He doesn't finish his sentence, because at that moment Lydia's eyes flutter open. Allison freezes, clenching her hand around the arrow – not because she might need it as a weapon, but because she needs to remind herself to stay in control. They might have been mistaken; Lydia could be okay. But if she's not, this could be their one chance to save her. They might be able to do for her what they hadn't been able to do for Stiles.

Lydia rolls her shoulders, looks down at the ropes holding her to the chair, and laughs. It's a harsh sound, cold like rainwater down Allison's back, and the hunter shivers. "You really think this is going to be enough to hold me?" Lydia asks scathingly.

Allison's heart slithers through her body and falls to the floor._ It's not Lydia. She's not herself. _It's not hard to believe, not when she can see the coldness in her friend's eyes. Lydia turns to Allison with half a smile, malice mixed with amusement, familiarity with a detached kind of curiosity.

Instinctively, Isaac comes to stand beside Allison. He's supportive, not protective, which Allison is grateful for; she may not be a werewolf, but she belongs with the pack. She's as strong as any of them, and she reminds herself of this as she stares at her best friend. In that moment, Allison feels weak – because she couldn't save her friend, because she can't face her now… and because, although she will never tell a soul, she wishes for one wild moment that it was her. Not that she wants to kill anyone – but she wants to know that the pack would care about her this much, would do anything to save her.

Deaton steps back and Scott crosses over to stand beside his friend. Allison and Isaac wait for the alpha to speak first, and when he does, his voice is tinged with pain. "Lydia," he says, simply, heartfelt, heartbreaking, "is this actually you?"

Her smile tilts up further, amusement softening her features even as her eyes sharpen with suspicion. "Of course it's me, Scott," she says smoothly. "Who else would it be?"

Scott moves to stand in front of her, to look at her, to see if it's really her. It's not, and he knows it, and Allison is suddenly grateful that she's not the one in charge. "What happened to you?" Scott asks.

Lydia keeps smiling, tranquil as a still pool. Allison doesn't look at her because she's scared she might see something familiar in her eyes – some reflection of herself, some hint of darkness that she doesn't want to face. "I found myself," Lydia says. "And I freed myself. From all your stupid mortal rules and your lectures about consequences and your fear of retribution."

This isn't the answer that any of them are expecting, so nobody speaks right away. Isaac tugs at his scarf, clearly uncomfortable, and then he says, "Did the nogitsune find you? Is that how it happened?"

Lydia turns her gaze to the beta werewolf, and then tilts her head. She doesn't answer, letting his questions hang there for a moment before changing the subject entirely. "You're a strange one, Isaac," she says, causing the boy in question to narrow his eyes. "You know you don't belong in the pack, but you stick around anyway. Because you have nowhere else to go, right? Poor thing. It must be terribly lonely."

Allison starts to reassure him, to tell him that whatever's controlling Lydia is making her say these things and that they're not true in the least, but he gives her a look that lets her know that he's already aware of this. What he doesn't know is that he gives something else away too, in that one simple look. It's doubt – just a tiny splash of it, but it's there. He knows it's not Lydia saying these things, but it seems like he's starting to believe them.

Scott intervenes before Lydia can keep talking. "He belongs with us," Scott says. "And so do you."

"Au contraire," Lydia says, her gaze sweeping over Scott, Allison, and Isaac. "_You_ belong with _us_."

"Us?" Isaac echoes, suddenly wary. He looks quickly around the room, even doing a full spin so that he can see into the darkest corners, but there's no one else here. "What does she mean, _us_?" he mutters to Scott.

The alpha shrugs, and then turns back to Lydia. "This was the nogitsune, wasn't it? How did he get to you?"

"He didn't get to me." Lydia's words are swift but unhurried; she doesn't seem concerned about her predicament, and is making no moves to hide her intentions. It makes Allison's skin crawl, but she just leans against Isaac – hardly touching, but still linked – and tries to keep her head. "He created me."

"How?" Allison cuts in, and tries not to flinch when Lydia turns her sharp gaze on her. "How did he create you?"

When Lydia doesn't answer, Deaton steps in. "I believe the nogitsune is capable of certain… conjurations," he says. "I'm not sure of the form they take, but it would probably be something small and unobtrusive – something that could get to Lydia without her realizing it."

"And that's what's causing her to act this way," Allison finishes. She wonders if the others can see her secret in her eyes – the fact that she had traitorously thought that Lydia might not have been infected at all, that she might have simply been changing. Allison hates that she's the kind of person to doubt her friends like this, but she knows why she does it. She isn't ready to face the darkness in herself, so she focuses on the potential darkness in others.

"Most likely," Deaton says. "Since I think it's quite clear that Lydia is in fact affected, might I suggest that we get started?"

"Right." Scott is staring at Lydia with equal parts fascination and pain. Allison knows him well enough to know that he'll be blaming himself for this, like he does for what happened to Stiles. It's his pack, and he wants to be able to protect them. But Allison knows that he can't protect all of them, and he might not be able to save them all either. She just doesn't know how to tell him that. "So how is this going to work?"

"It's not going to be pretty," Deaton warns. The others make no move to excuse themselves or back out, so he continues. "Whatever the nogitsune used to infect her is most likely inside her – she might have swallowed it, for example. Which means that we need to make sure this can reach her."

He holds up a vial with a dark violet liquid swishing inside it. Allison feels sick.

"So we have to get her to swallow it," Scott says, still looking at Lydia. The banshee stiffens, perhaps realizing for the first time that she might actually be in danger.

"Yes." Deaton walks over to them, still holding the vial. "But she will most likely be… resistant."

"So what do we do?" Scott asks, turning to face the emissary for the first time.

Deaton gives him something that's a cross between an apologetic grimace and a reassuring smile. "You're going to have to hold her."

Scott balks, but doesn't shy away. After only a moment he skirts around Lydia, whose smile keeps growing wider, and puts his hands on her shoulders, holding her back. She doesn't resist – not yet.

"He'll come for you, you know," Lydia says as Deaton bends down, pulling the cork out of the vial. "And don't even think that you can fight him. He'll win."

A chill runs down Allison's spine, and she can't tell if it's because of the words themselves or the flat way in which Lydia says them. It's not a threat, not a warning; it's a promise.

With one last look at Scott, Deaton forces Lydia's mouth open. Now she resists. Allison has to turn away, so appalled by the way Lydia is struggling to break free. _It's not Lydia. This is the only way to save her. _After a few unsuccessful attempts, Deaton steps back and looks at Allison and Isaac.

Without being told, Allison knows that her help is being requested. Isaac steps forward to take her place, but she gently nudges him back. It's her best friend, and she needs to do what she can to save her. So Allison grits her teeth and holds Lydia back, and between her and Scott they manage to keep her still enough for Deaton to pour the liquid down her throat. But even after Lydia has swallowed, even after she's shivering with the effects of the potion, she's still muttering the same thing, over and over. "He'll come for you. He'll kill you."

Suddenly the struggling becomes more frantic, until Allison is worried that Lydia is going to snap a bone or a tendon. A light fades from Lydia's eyes and Allison wonders if they made a horrible mistake, but then Lydia leans forward, lets out a cough that sounds like it's breaking her ribs, and a fly tumbles from her mouth. Deaton quickly scoops it up and disappears to dispose of it, while the remaining people watch Lydia cautiously.

She's breathing heavily, her chest heaving, but she's not struggling anymore. There are tears in her eyes – of pain, of joy, of something Allison can't quite identify – and after a minute she goes still.

"Lydia?" Scott asks tentatively.

The banshee takes a deep shuddering breath, her eyes darker but somehow more familiar, and Allison can sense something about her – something different, like the weight of what she's done is still pressing down on her, wrapping around her like a shawl. But behind that is the old Lydia, the one they'd tried so desperately to save.

She looks at all of them in turn and then faces Scott again, her eyes shining with relief. "I knew you could do it," she says, her voice weak and breathy even though there's fire in her eyes again. "I knew you could save me."

And before Scott can so much as thank her, Lydia's eyes close and she slumps back in her chair, and Allison can't help but think that they might not have saved her after all.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

**So does that explain a bit? Or did I lose you all?**

**Next chapter will have some Sheriff/Melissa (or John/Melissa because I refuse to accept that his name might be anything else) feels, and I think a few of you guys might be excited for that given the reaction I had a few chapters back.**

**So, don't forget to review, and I'll see you all soon (either tomorrow for my update of 'fugue', in the one-shot I'll post on Friday, or the next update a week from today).**


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